Almost Had It All
by Chevalliata
Summary: A new knight finds out the hard way how far the Church of Rome's manipulations go...[Full summary inside] Rated for violence, language, and sexual situations. TristanOC COMPLETE
1. AN

**Author's Note**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of King Arthur and do not claim to. So don't sue me, because you wouldn't get much any way! I only own the characters I create, so….

**_Summary_** After an incident involving the Church of Rome, a Sarmatian knight by the name of Marsile is ordered to escort Bishop Germanus to Hadrian's Wall in Britain, the fort of the legendary Knights of Arthur. Once there, the manipulations of the church are revealed, in more ways than one…

**_Pronunciations and Meanings _–** **Marsile** (mar-see-lay), _means_ warring (Latin) / **Iniga** (n-e-ga), _means_ fiery (Latin) / **Artay** (r-tay), _means_ strong (potential Sarmatian language – Arabic origins )/ **Aylin** (a-lyn), _means_ moonlight, halo around the moon (potential Sarmatian language – Arabic origins) / **Kavan** (kah-vahn), _means_ rock (potential Sarmatian language – Arabic origins)

Some of you may notice that the timeline for my story is different than the one in the movie. The reason for this is: 1) It works with the story (duh) and 2) I added three years to the timeline, because it seemed unreasonable that the Roman Empire would take these boys under the age of fifteen and immediately begin their service. It would take time for the boys to be trained, because, after all, the Romans would want to get the most out of their service. So while the knights before Arthur, Lancelot, Tristan, and all of our other favorites, were finishing up the last 3 of their 15 years, the others were going through weapons training and such…

…I hope that makes sense to all ya'll ;-)

To those who read the story when the first ten chapters were originally posted, I apologize for this delay and confusion. Being the busy girl I am, I rarely had time to write and update, and as a result, lost focus on the story and got a serious case of writer's block. In my mind, the best way to pick up where I left off was to go back and rewrite the old chapters, adding things in that had come to me later, or fixing things I hadn't noticed before, thereby refocusing and making the story better (not to mention longer!).

So I apologize again and thank you in advance for giving the story another chance!

_Chevalliata_


	2. Prologue

  
**Almost Had It All**

**Prologue:**

_Pick me up  
been bleeding too long  
Right here, right now  
I'll stop it some how _

I will make it go away  
can't be here no more  
Seems this is the only way  
I will soon be gone  
these feelings will be gone  
these feelings will be gone

Now I see the times they change  
leaving doesn't seem so strange  
I am hoping I can find  
where to leave my hurt behind  
All this shit I seem to take  
all alone I seem to break  
I have lived the best I can  
Does this make me not a man?

Shut me off  
I am ready,  
Heart stops  
I stand alone  
Can't be on my own

I will make it go away  
can't be here no more  
Seems this is the only way  
I will soon be gone  
these feelings will be gone  
these feelings will be gone

Now I see the times they change  
leaving doesn't seem so strange  
I am hoping I can find  
where to leave my hurt behind  
All this shit I seem to take  
all alone I seem to break  
I have lived the best I can  
Does this make me not a man?

Am I going to leave this place?  
What is it I'm running from?  
is there nothing more to come? (am I Gunna leave this place?)  
Is it always black in space?  
Am I going to take it's place?  
Am I going to leave this race? (Am I going to leave this race?)  
I guess god's up in this place?  
what is it that I've become?  
is there something more to come? (more to come)

Now I see the times they change  
leaving doesn't seem so strange  
I am hoping I can find  
where to leave my hurt behind  
All this shit I seem to take  
all alone I seem to break  
I have lived the best I can  
Does this make me not a man? x2

"_Alone I Break" Korn_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

465 A.D.

_Eastern Province…_

The smell of death loomed overhead, a persistent fog, holding on with hands of mist to the bloody earth, reluctant to allow the sun to prevail. The anguished cries and moans of the dying sliced and pounded through the thick air.

Shredded and burning flags of a rebel nation littered the area, along with the fallen men from the same. Though, too, the standard of Rome could be seen, stabbed into the ground near their dead carriers, wavering as the air rushed in circles around them.

Several figures could be made out among the bodies through the fog. The few beams of sunlight reflecting harshly off the bright red plumes in their dull metal helmets. Ironic that the color of escaping life, pooled on the ground beneath could be found there as well.

Included in the figures, one could be seen who did not mirror the color. Black cloak and hair flying behind, caught in the vicious wind; stern face, bruised and bloodied from battle; cold blue eyes, assessing the mayhem before them; sword by side, for now in rest, but ready to do harm if need be. If one looked closer, shock might be felt at such a person on a field of such brutality. But if one actually felt surprised at this person – this woman – found in such surroundings, then one is less knowledgeable than one might think.

Marsile looked about her, searching for the two people she hoped had survived the long fight. Her gaze, though hindered by the dense fog, eventually settled upon those whom she sought. The kneeled man by the prone body brought about a sharp pain in her gut, quickly striking up to grasp her heart, pulling it up to lump in her throat.

"Oh, no…" she whispered, almost inaudibly against the wind.

Sheathing her sword, Marsile slowly wound her way around dead men to the other side of the fallen man, kneeling, as the man on the opposite side did.

The glossy brown eyes of her mentor stared up into oblivion, never to crinkle in amusement, crease in concern, or boil in anger again.

Gattus, General of the Eastern Legions, was dead.

And here, beside him, was Cornelius, his son and second-in-command, and Marsile, his student, prized warrior and his _Iniga_.

Marsile reached out and gently closed those eyes for the last time. With her hand still on Gattus's head, she bowed her own, and said a Sarmatian prayer she would never forget, to help speed his spirit to whatever heaven he chose to believe in.

"_Unrest will no longer be yours, the Goddess take your soul, brave warrior, to a place where peace reigns, and pain will no where be."_

Marsile looked over to where Cornelius sat in silent despair, staring at his dead father. She reached across and gripped his hand, trying to squeeze comfort into his motionless body.

"I am sorry Cornelius. Your father was a great soldier, and an even greater man. He is revered in such a noble death."

After a moment of silence, Cornelius spoke, still not moving his gaze.

"You, of all people, say that death in the name of Rome is a noble one? Would you wish for your end to be met in battle? "

"Yes, there is no better death for a soldier than death in battle. And no, I do not believe that death _for_ _Rome_ is noble. Death for what one _believes in_ is. Your father was a Greek man who died protecting his homeland. I respect him for not only his loyalty to his people, but also for his non-Roman heritage…" she trailed off, giving the last bit alighter tone so that maybe the man would look away from the death and toward the life left behind.

Fortunately, the ploy worked. Cornelius looked over at her, the shadow of the smirk she knew so well around his mouth.

"Luckily for me, only half of my bloodline is Roman, huh? Otherwise, you might not like me as much as you do."

With a sad smile, Marsile replied jokingly, "Who said I liked you at all? But I guess, this once, I'll let the insult slide." She stood and held a hand out to him. "Come, we need rest. Once we have our strength back…we can deal with what is left."

When they were both standing, the two made their way toward the camp being erected at the edge of the field, stopping only to order a soldier to gather the General Gattus and his belongings and lay him in a tent for burial preparations.

Walking into the tent set up for him, Cornelius began stripping off his heavy battle armor, followed by Marsile, slowly taking off what armor she herself wore. He mentioned a concern for the risk she took wearing so little protection, but she wasn't listening. Despite her dry eyes, she felt the agony of loss welling up inside her again.

After placing his armor and weapons in the tent corner, Cornelius noticed Marsile just standing still, looking dejectedly at the dried blood of others on her hands. Walking toward her, Cornelius told her to sit in the chair while he brought the water.

Methodically, he washed the blood away from her hands and dabbed at the splatters on her face and neck.

When all was finished, the dam holding back her pain broke and she spoke in a low whisper.

"If I had paid more attention…"

Placing his hands on the sides of her head, Cornelius raised Marsile's face to his.

"You are _not_ to blame, _Iniga!_ We all choose our own fates; make our own decisions. And you blaming yourself for my father's death is a _wrong_ decision!" He finished by resting his forehead on her brow, watching her eyes until she finally closed them and nodded.

When Marsile opened her eyes again and her gaze latched onto his, she saw the despair she felt reflected in his brown eyes. They both knew what the other needed: release to ease the emotional pain.

Cornelius leaned his head down to capture her lips with his own.

Just as eager as he to let the hurt slip away and knowledgeable to the fact that he had always been caring with her in bed, Marsile gave in to the kiss, responding in like to Cornelius' passion.

Cornelius, in turn, pulled her from the chair, gripped her legs, and wrapping them around his waist, carried her behind the curtain that sectioned off the sleeping quarters.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_A week or so later…_

Cornelius and Marsile stood side by side as the lid of Gattus' coffin was nailed into place.

There weren't many people present on the hilltop where Cornelius' ancestors were laid to rest: just Marsile, Cornelius himself, and the few servants that Gattus had employed at his estate. Though they'd had a time for the soldiers to honor their fallen general, all that was allowed now was family.

Marsile stepped forward and placed her hand on the wooden box.

"Goodbye my friend. Rest well," she whispered slowly.

She looked back at Cornelius, who only shook his head. Marsile understood. He wanted to say goodbye alone. Moving back, she nodded to the servants, their faces drawn in mourning for their deceased employer. Slowly they lowered the coffin into the grave.

Marsile walked over to Marcus, one of the stablemen, and said low enough for his ears alone,

"Tell the others to leave for a few minutes, to give Cornelius some time. They can come back later and finish."

The man nodded and spread the word quietly. Once she saw that all were gone, Marsile glanced back at Cornelius, who stood looking down into the grave, and then walked to the neighboring hilltop and sat, looking out on the land below, remembering.

"_Sirs, there is someone in the water!" A soldier called to the general and his twenty-year-old son, Cornelius, also his Second._

_Gattus dismounted and rushed to the riverbank just as one of his men pulled the person from the raging waters. Kneeling down beside the person, he realized that it was a young girl. Gattus began to apply pressure to her chest, pushing the water from her lungs._

_The general picked up the girl and carried her to his horse. Little did he know then the effect he would have on the girl's future._

oOo

"_Pick up the pace Iniga!" Gattus yelled._

_Nodding, she moved her feet and arms faster as Cornelius came at her, his sword a blur as it swiped in front of her. One movement too slow and she ended up on her back, looking up at her friend._

"_Watch your opponent's eyes and do not focus on his weapon's movements, otherwise you will become dizzy and miss a block," the young man said, reaching down to help her to her feet._

oOo

"_Come on my Iniga! Is having your portrait made so horrible?" Gattus asked exasperated._

"_Yes! When I have to wear _this_!" she replied, looking pointedly at the beautiful thin, blue gown Sara insisted she wear._

"_I don't understand you sometimes! You look as glorious as the goddesses of old!" the man said with a chuckle as she huffed out of the room._

oOo

"_For you Iniga. No true Sarmatian can go without a mighty horse," Gattus said, watching the girl he considered daughter stare in awe at the young black stallion standing in the stall._

"_He is magnificent!" She stated in shock._

"_He is all yours," Gattus replied with a fatherly kiss to the top of the girl's head._

Several minutes passed by before Marsile felt Cornelius sit down beside her. Neither said anything, just looked out on the Greek estate that now belong by right to Cornelius.

The bright blue sea stretched up to join with white sands, the green grass surrounding the two people making a perfect contrast. The enormous villa was a blinding white, made even more so by the shining sun. The large stable set back in the valley, while the many horses it housed galloped in the fields.

Back at the estate, a door opened and an old servant woman stepped out. Up on the hill, Marsile and Cornelius could hear Sara yelling at them to get out of the heat and come in and eat their noonday meal. With echoing chuckles, the two did as their old nanny bid them.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Later that night…_

Marsile lounged on the chair in Gattus' study before the fire that had been lit to combat the cooling night air, staring scornfully at the portrait of herself hanging above it.

"I wish you would take that thing down."

Cornelius didn't stop his work for he already knew of what she spoke.

He simply said, "No, Father loved that painting", and he rather liked it as well. It showed the feminine side of Marsile, something not often seen.

"Only you would find some paperwork to do when there is none _to_ do," she said, changing the subject resignedly, her voice tinged with irony.

At the desk, Cornelius stopped writing and looked at her incredulously.

"There is _always_ paperwork to do!"

"Only the way you do it," she replied slyly.

Before he could retort, a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Cornelius said.

The door opened and a servant came through, followed by a messenger.

"A message from Rome my Lord," the servant bowed and closed the door behind him.

The man bowed to both Cornelius and Marsile, and then stepped forward to relay the message to Cornelius.

"The Emperor was saddened to hear of the General Gattus' death. He wishes you and the Knight Marsile to take a few days to mourn, for he knows how close you both were to the late general, but then he expects you to report to him personally in Rome."

With a nod, Cornelius replied,

"It will be done. You can tell the Emperor that we shall be in Rome a week from now."

The man bowed and left the room for the stable. When carrying a message for the Emperor, one never stopped for rest the first night.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Rome, a week later…_

The streets of Rome were always packed full of cheaters. Or at least, that was the opinion of Marsile.

As she rode her black stallion, Artay, behind Cornelius, Marsile was sure she had seen at least ten quick handed thefts, twenty sly money exchanges, and half a hundred merchants talking up their "special products".

Their small group of Cornelius, Marsile, and a couple soldiers soon came to a stand still as an apple cart upended, sending apples and people scurrying across the street.

While the apple merchant and soldiers tried to stop the theft of the fruits, Marsile's attention was drawn to a side street where a wagon was being loaded with several pieces of furniture. "Expensive pieces," she thought, "probably some rich senator clearing out his assignation house." As she watched, a little boy, no more than six or seven, came out of the building staggering beneath the weight of a heavy chair.

Scoffing at the carelessness of giving a small boy such a large burden, Marsile led Artay into the alley, dismounted and lifted the chair from the boy. Frozen in fear, the boy looked up at her with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

Rolling her eyes, Marsile shifted for a more comfortable hold on the chair and looked in the boy's general direction.

"Are you going to just stand and stare at me or tell me where I can put this chair?"

After a moment the boy closed his mouth and pointed to the front of the wagon, where a space was left to fit the piece.

Nodding, Marsile moved and packed the chair in tightly. Once sure that it would stay, she turned to look at the boy.

He watched her with blue eyes, somewhat hidden by his unruly dark hair. For a moment they both stood still, staring at each other. The inherent sense of familiarity unnerved Marsile, because she had a fairly good idea who the kid was.

"Boy, you better not have dropped that chair or I'll whip your hide! I want to get these items to Britain in perfect condition!"

Both woman and boy turned to the angry male voice coming from just inside the building.

Glancing back at the boy, who had gone pale with fear, Marsile watched the fat man walk out the door, and fluster when he saw her standing there.

Instant recognition brought the fire of hate to her belly as she stared at the man, gaping like a fish before her.

Curling her lip back in a snarl, Marsile spoke words that could be considered nothing less than poison,

"Perhaps, since you worry so much about the condition of your belongings, you should not give them to a young boy to carry and load, but get your own fat ass up and do it yourself."

With another glance at the boy and snarl at the man, Marsile swung up on Artay's back and left the alley.

Marius Honorius stood frozen in disbelief for a moment, before turning and ordering the boy back to work.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Imperial Compound…_

"Why won't you tell me where you went?"

"It's not important, so just drop it," Marsile replied as she dismounted Artay in the compound courtyard, giving the reigns to a stable boy.

Cornelius shook his head in resignation and did the same. A servant waited on the stairs to show the two to the guest wing.

Following the servant toward the guest quarters, they heard the man say that the Lord Herminius was looking forward to visiting with them.

With a silent groan, Marsile prayed to the Goddess that the visit would be short, and her next assignment far.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Later that day…_

All too glad to escape the dining hall and the "accidental" touches under the table from the Emperor's son, Herminius, Marsile gratefully entered the hall where a servant awaited her.

"My Lady, the Cardinal Crassus wishes to speak with you," the man said with a bow.

And just like that, the light mood dissipated.

With a curt nod, Marsile dismissed the man and reluctantly made her way to the Cardinal's council chamber.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_The next morning…_

Cornelius stalked into the stables and right up to Artay's stall, where Marsile was busy gathering her things.

"Where in the name of God are you going?" He questioned sternly.

"On assignment."

"Where you planning on telling me of your departure?"

With a sigh, Marsile stopped her ministrations. "I don't have to report to you my comings and goings. I am not _your_ knight and I am not your wife!"

He couldn't mask the hurt that statement caused. Still he kept asking,

"Where are you going?"

"Gaul, first. Then who knows where I'll be sent."

Seeing the tension in her shoulders, Cornelius asked more,

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing. Just Crassus being his usual, charming self…"

Before he could say anything else, she added,

"I have to go Cornelius. I shall write you once I reach Gaul."

And with that, she was mounted and gone.

**Next Chapter: Nightmares and Moving Out**


	3. Nightmares and Moving Out

**Almost Had It All**

**Chapter One: Nightmares and Moving Out**

_You said hold on  
but I feel like I'm slipping away  
you said hold on  
but I feel like I'm slipping away _

I won't let you down  
the words you said to me  
It's echoing the sound  
of what would never be

_I'm standing here alone  
the memories remain  
the same familiar home  
but nothing looks the same  
and I'm standing here alone  
can't tell if I'm awake  
reality is gone  
in a dream I can't escape_

_You said hold on  
but I feel like I'm slipping away  
you said hold on  
but I feel like I'm slipping away_

_I'm getting through it now  
I guess it's plain to see  
that everything I am  
is not everything you need_

_And I'm standing here alone  
can't tell if I'm awake  
Reality is gone  
in a dream I can't escape_

_You said hold on  
but I feel like I'm slipping away  
you said hold on  
but I feel like I'm slipping away_

_And I'm standing here alone  
can't tell if I'm awake  
and it feels like I'm slipping away_

_Reality is gone  
in a dream I can't escape  
and it feels like I'm slipping away_

"_Slipping Away" Trust Company_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo _

"_Goodnight, sleep tight,  
No more tears  
In the morning I'll be here  
And when we say goodnight,  
Dry your eyes  
Because we said goodnight,  
And not goodbye  
We said goodnight  
And not goodbye…"_

_Their mother sang softly as she sat with her son and daughter outside of their home, watching the moon rise to join the stars. The lullaby was an old one, one that had been sung to her, and her mother before her, and her mother before her, and so on. _

_They sat waiting on her husband to return from the hunt with some of the other men of the tribe. It didn't take long for the woman to realize that her children had fallen asleep on the bench, leaning on each other for support. She smiled to see her son's arm around his baby sister, protecting her even in sleep. The light reflected off their necklaces, the symbol of their tribe with their names engraved on the back. The smile widened as she remembered how they had traded, so they could have each other's. _

_The sound of horses turned her attention from her babes and toward her husband as he dismounted, said his farewells and goodnights to the fellow men and finally walked toward her._

_With a smile to match the shine of the moon above them, she smiled and wrapped her arms tightly around her husband, kissing him passionately as he returned the gesture._

"_It is good to have you home," she whispered against his ear._

"_It is good to be home," he replied._

_At that moment, their daughter opened her blue eyes, her namesake, given her because of those eyes and their likeness to the sphere above them._

_With a happy giggle, she nudged her brother awake and raced off the jump in her father's awaiting arms._

_Amused at her intensity, her father swung her up in the air, reveling in the sweet tinkling of her childish laughter._

"_Ah, my sweet, sweet Aylin! Are you sure you're only five summers old? You look much more grown up than you did a few weeks ago! Did you miss me daughter?"_

"_Huh-huh," she said with a vigorous nod, answering both his questions._

"_Father!"_

_The man reached down to hug his eleven-year-old son._

"_Kavan, my boy, you look a man already!"_

_With that, the family went into the house._

_The next day, was the day it all ended._

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Rome…_

Marsile woke with a gasp. Glancing around, she realized that she wasn't in the house from her memories, but in her room at the Imperial Compound. She closed her eyes, hoping to wipe the past from her vision - images of her home in flames, red capes and the Roman standard; the sounds of the harsh Latin of the cruel soldiers, her mother crying out for her dead husband, her brother trying his best to block out the screams of the villagers being chased down by ruthless men and protect his baby sister, holding her and telling her to hold on.

It was a day that had gone seriously wrong, Marsile remembered. She recalled that her mother had asked her father that night why the men had come back empty handed from the hunt. He hadn't answered. It turned out that it hadn't been a hunt at all, but a scouting mission. The men of her tribe had known that the Romans were on their way, and had made plans accordingly. They refused to let their sons be taken.

Unfortunately for the men, and the entire village, the Romans had heard rumors of an ambush set for their collection time and had increased their numbers. The Sarmatian tribe had had no chance. What young boys had survived had been carted off for military training, her brother, Kavan, among them. It hadn't taken long for the soldiers to realize that the only female left alive was the five-year-old Aylin.

Taking deep breaths, Marsile pulled back the sheets of her bed and walked to the washbasin on a table next to the tall window. She splashed her face with water now stale from sitting too long and wiped her golden skin dry of sweat and water with a cloth. Leaning on the table for support, she gazed out into the night air, at the full moon shining eerily on the city.

"How can you be the same here, as you were there?" she muttered.

"Why do you talk to the moon and ask it questions you know it cannot answer?" a voice said from behind her.

Marsile turned to look at the man still lying in her bed, though now sitting with his back resting on the headboard. His short dark hair mussed from sleep and other things. His brown eyes piercing, but warm. Strong arms were crossed against his chest and she knew what muscle lie there. Battle scars slashed their way across his body.

He smiled and she knew that he'd noticed her study of his form and Marsile watched as his eyes swept down her own, only then realizing that she was still naked. Rolling her eyes at the smug look on his face, she walked over to a chaise lounge at the end of the bed and slipped on the robe that had been tossed there earlier.

"Well Cornelius, I suppose I do it in hope that one night she might finally answer and then I would have no more questions," she said as she walked toward him, grabbing a leather thong and tying her long black waves up as she went. When she sat next to him on the bed, he placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed, not in a sexual way, but in a way only meant to offer comfort. It pleased Marsile to see that even after her "abandonment" of him those five years ago hadn't affected their friendship.

"What troubles you _Iniga_?" he asked calling her by the nickname once again.

"Just memories…nightmares," she corrected.

Because he knew how badly the memories affected her and how she wouldn't accept his words of sympathy, he put his arms around her and just held her.

"I'm worried," she whispered after a long pause, fiddling with her necklace (Cornelius noticed that she had been doing quite a bit of fidgeting in the times he had seen her in the past five years), her cheek pressed against his collarbone.

"About what?" Cornelius asked softly. Marsile hardly ever spoke of her fears and he knew that when she did so, it was best for her to do most of the talking.

"This new order…it just doesn't…feel right."

"Why not?"

"I am to escort the Bishop Germanus safely to Hadrian's Wall in Britain. Once there, I will be issued my discharge papers from the Roman military." Marsile sat up and met Cornelius' brown gaze with her azure one. "I have been under Roman control of one sort or another since I was five. I am now twenty-three…that's eighteen years, Cornelius. I was only sentenced to serve ten years; that was up last year and yet, here I am. Crassus kept making up reasons for why I should be kept under sentence and the Emperor listened to him. But now, it is said this is the last mission.

"I shouldn't have to go on another mission to gain my freedom. Why can I not have it now, damn it?" She shouted the last part, her grip on the necklace turning her knuckles white with the strain, the anger rising up in her throat causing a slight wheeze, but she held back the coughing for now.

Cornelius grasped her hand and she released the chain, revealing a beautifully elaborate pendant with the crest of her ancestors. "I cannot answer your question. God has a purpose for everything and I'm sure he has a reason for your mission-"

"God? What has he ever done for me? I'll tell you what…nothing. If there was a God, my family would never have been taken from me and I wouldn't lead this life! For all I know, I could have been married by now, with children of my own, and never have to wonder if the blood of all the men I've killed iswashed away. Don't speak to me of your god. Why would a _true_ god allow his officials to become so corrupt? How can I be expected to do my duty if I must guard my back from their knives? I don't trust any of them."

"_All right Crassus, I was told you wanted to speak with me? Surely, you can say it all soon and this unfortunate meeting can end quickly," Marsile stated, looking at the cardinal's plump, wrinkled face with thinly veiled hatred._

"_So Lady Marsile, I wonder if you have finally converted from your heathen beliefs to the ways of the one and only God?" he said, coming to stand right in front of her._

"_Sorry to disappoint you Cardinal, but I think I'll be keeping my 'heathen beliefs' - as you called them - now and forevermore. I am not required to believe in your god and that is a leniency I take full advantage of."_

"_So you wish to remain a pagan? A whore for soldiers? You are nothing but a criminal and it seems to me that your punishment is not harsh enough. But it is in the hands of God and hopefully he will be forgiving of your sins," Crassus said with a smirk._

"_Perhaps you should be praying for the absolution of your own transgressions. You call me a whore, but you yourself make use of the ones found here in the city? I could be wrong, but isn't hypocrisy thought of as a sin by your god?"_

"_You should not speak to a man in such words, especially one of my station-"_

"_Stop your blabbering. Everyone knows you do not care about being a 'holy' man, only about how much money from the church you can line your pockets with and how much influence you could hold over the Emperor and I am the criminal?"_

"_You pagan bitch!" Crassus yelled as he backhanded Marsile, cutting her cheek with one of the heavy ruby rings on his short, chubby fingers_. "Seems that the woman has forgotten her place in the years since… Yes, it is definitely time for another lesson!"_ he thought as he tried to grab her, already hard with the prospect of "re-teaching" the girl what he had several years ago. _

_But Marsile wasn't ever going to allow anything of the sort to happen to her ever again. Quickly grasping her dagger from her belt, she stabbed the Cardinal through the palm of his left hand._

"_Since you enjoy being a holy man so much – how does it feel to share a wound with your holy 'Savior'?_

"_Don't ever touch me or next time my knife will be through an appendage you value much more than that hand," she threatened. With a last disgusted glance at the now weeping Cardinal lying on the floor, Marsile re-sheathed her dagger, turned on her heel and left._

"_You'll pay you Sarmatian bitch… Trust me, you'll pay…" Crassus ground out between sobs of pain that echoed in his now empty council room, already plotting a way to make the woman suffer._

Cornelius sighed. He couldn't argue with what she spoke of. The truth of the matter was, he was worried too. There _was_ no reason for her to leave and _then_ receive her freedom when it could be given here in Rome. "Could it be a way to get her out of the public eye?" he wondered. She had respect from the citizens, the Emperor, admiration from most soldiers, the unwanted infatuation of the heir, and unfortunately, the hatred of the church. But it would be foolish to try to harm her here in the city.

"I had best start preparing for the journey, we leave an hour after sunrise," Marsile said getting up to dress as she saw the first hints of dawn on the horizon through her window, the eerie gray light of the moon submitting to the returned rays of the sun.

"And I have new recruits to evaluate today - young ones, from the outer provinces. They seem to have potential," Cornelius added as he too stood from the bed and began to put on his clothes and armor. It had not been long after Gattus' death when the Emperor had offered the position of General of the Eastern Legions to Cornelius, to continue on his father's legacy.

"Are you going to say your goodbyes to Herminius before you leave?" he asked teasingly to lighten the mood, knowing how the young emperor-to-be annoyed her with his constant words of love.

Marsile grimaced. "Ugh…I wish he would just take the hint! I see him as an acquaintance if anything, not a lover! How many times must I tell him 'No' before it gets through his thick, royal skull?"

"You can't blame him for trying. After all, you are a fighter renowned throughout the empire...and even though you try to hide it, a beautiful woman," Cornelius mentioned as he took in her long dark hair which was now being set into a plait, the flawless golden skin, the ice blue eyes, thickly lashed and _very_ perceptive, the full mouth and her body, though covered in a loose fitting tunic and riding breeches, he knew had ample curves in the right places and was as well toned as any warrior's would be.

Marsile turned toward him with an amused look on her face. "Well, you're not so bad looking yourself Cornelius, and after all you are a great general…maybe he should give you a try, hmm?" she said with a devilish smirk.

Wincing, as if in pain at the thought, Cornelius came up to stand in front of her.

"Now why would you think that, when I only have eyes for you?" he asked, only half serious, kissing her forehead.

Though they'd both had other lovers, and enjoyed said lovers as a physical release, Cornelius _loved_ her, and always had. But after his father's death, she had retreated further within herself, fearing to get too emotionally attached to anyone, because death shrouded every aspect of her life. And to respect her wishes, he too had moved back, waiting until she was ready to surge forward again.

Seeing what he felt in his eyes, Marsile took a step back, away from him.

Turning away, she moved to put on her own armor. When they were both dressed, Marsile and Cornelius trekked to the kitchens. In the hall just outside the room, Marsile suddenly stopped,

"I forgot something. Could you gather some dried meat and fruits in a sack for me while I go get it?"

With a nod, Cornelius entered the kitchen; always eager to see what delectable snack he could convince the old cook to sneak him.

Once she was sure Cornelius was preoccupied, Marsile snuck out of the building to a gate in the compound wall, where she knew a less than respectable man awaited her with his 'merchandise'.

After a few minutes, Marsile, with her purchase tucked securely inside a discreet bag, met Cornelius in the back entrance hall and walked with him to the stable.

He watched sadly as she brought around Artay's tack and began to saddle the steed. In his mind, the task was done all too quickly.

A servant came to inform Marsile that the soldiers joining her in the journey where waiting in the front courtyard and that the Bishop and his secretary would soon be ready to make way.

"Goodbye, Cornelius," she said, pushing away the bad thought that it would be the last time she spoke with him and hugged him.

"Goodbye _Iniga,_" he whispered against her hair, inhaling its scent.

Marsile mounted Artay, said a final farewell and rode to the courtyard. It took several more minutes before the Bishop came out of the compound and climbed into the carriage followed closely by his rodent-faced assistant, Horton.

Finally, the dreaded extra mission was begun as the caravan of two carriages, one for the Bishop and another for the Bishop's luggage, a Roman lieutenant and twenty soldiers, and one Sarmatian knight, moved out.

Watching from the entryway, Cornelius put his fist over his heart in Roman salute. "Be safe, my dear Aylin."

**Next Chapter: The Wall**

**Lullaby - "Goodnight" Evanescence**


	4. The Wall

**Almost Had It All **

**Chapter Two: The Wall**

_We're not gonna be  
just another part of their game  
we're not gonna be  
just the victims  
they're takin' our dreams  
and they tear them apart  
'til everyone's the same_

_I've got no place to go  
I've got no where to run  
they'd love to watch me fall  
they think they know it all_

_I'm a nightmare, a disaster  
that's why they always say  
I'm a lost cause, not a hero  
but I'll make it on my own  
I've gotta prove them wrong  
it's me against the world_

_We won't let them change  
how we feel in our hearts  
we're not gonna let them control us  
We won't let them shove  
all their thoughts in our heads  
and we'll never be like them_

_I've got no place to go  
I've got no where to run  
they'd love to watch me fall  
they think they know it all_

_I'm a nightmare, a disaster  
that's why they always say  
I'm a lost cause, not a hero  
but I'll make it on my own  
I'm gonna prove them wrong  
it's me against the world  
me against the world_

_Now I'm sick of this waiting  
so come on and take your shot  
You can spit all your insults  
but nothing you say's gonna change us  
you can sit there and judge me  
say what you want to  
we'll never let you win_

_I'm a nightmare, a disaster  
that's why they always say  
I'm a lost cause, not a hero  
but I'll make it on my own  
me against the world_

_I'm a nightmare, a disaster  
that's why they always said  
I'm a lost cause, not a hero  
but I'll make it on my own  
I've got to prove them wrong  
they'll never bring us down_

_We'll never fall in line  
I'll make it on my own  
me against the world_

"_Me against the World" Simple Plan_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Journey to Britain…_

It was raining… Again.

The closer they traveled to the British Isle, the more rain they seemed to encounter.

"The perfect companion on an already dreadful journey," Marsile thought to herself, pulling her black cloak tighter about her frame in an attempt to keep the water out.

Four weeks they had been traveling, and yet, the northern coast of Gaul, where they would cross the channel into the Britain, was at least a week and a half away at the pace the caravan was moving.

"And we all know why we're moving so slo-" she muttered only to be interrupted by the one responsible for their delay.

"This weather is despicable! We are turning around and going to the inn we passed a few hours ago," Germanus yelled over the pounding of the rain.

Several of the soldiers accompanying them nodded their heads in agreement, while their lieutenant groaned softly with impatience.

With a scoff, Marsile turned Artay to face the now stopped coach where the Bishop sat comfortably out of the downpour. Leaning toward the window, she said in a voice strained with anger,

"Bishop, the weather was despicable yesterday, and the day before…and the day before that. My guess is that it will be the same tomorrow. If we turn back again, like you've had us do _several_ times already, we will never reach Britain! We might as well head back to Rome, for at this pace we shall be traveling the same forty or so miles every day! _ALSO_, I do not see you enduring the cold wet outside with the rest of us, so if you would PLEASE stop complaining about the weather, it would be much appreciated by all! Unless, of course, you wish to ride one of the horses, so that your whining may be valid?"

Horton gasped in disgust at the suggestion, then quivered in fear of his Eminence's response as he stared across the carriage at the fuming Bishop.

"You try my patience woman," Germanus growled through clenched teeth.

"And you've done nothing but try mine. Considering the fact that I haven't yet killed you in your sleep, I believe I've shown admirable restraint!

"My orders were to escort you _safely_ to Britain. If you keep complaining, I can't guarantee the 'safely' part of the assignment. Now if you would, please, just SHUTUP, and sit quietly in your dry little wagon, this process would be a _little_ less horrible and we would get to our destination a _lot_ faster!"

With one last shared glare, Marsile rode to the head of the group,

"Keep moving. If we pick up the pace, mayhap we can reach Hadrian's Wall before _another_ month is past!"

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Northern Coast of Gaul…_

Marsile tiredly sank to the floor of the ship with a sigh. Finally, the group had made it to the small port city, where a recently arrived merchant vessel agreed, without much of a choice, to carry the Bishop and his entourage back across the channel.

And for just a little while, Marsile had a chance to get away from the insufferable Germanus.

With a harsh cough, Marsile briefly wondered if she had become ill from the rainy weather, but immediately dismissed the notion as she reached in her pack, pulling out the bag she had purchased from the man at the compound gate. If only it could be as simple as a slight cold.

"I must ration it," she thought, "I had not expected the journey to go on for so long."

With a glance around the cabin to assure that she was alone, Marsile opened the bag and enjoyed the much-needed respite from the bitterness life brought her.

It was all too soon that a knock sounded on the cabin door along with the low Latin of one of the soldiers.

"We've landed. The lieutenant says we will make camp later tonight," the man said through the door.

"Fine," Marsile replied with a sigh, reluctantly rising from the floor, gathering her things and leaving for the hold where the horses had been placed.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Hadrian's Wall, Britain…_

Arthur glanced round him at the six men seated in various places at the large table. Though he wished he didn't think of it now, Arthur couldn't help but gaze at every empty chair where his fallen knights had once sat. Every single one of them had been loyal to Arthur, and it had been his responsibility to see that they, in return, saw the freedom they had long been denied. "And I have failed all but six," he thought to himself, as his remaining men celebrated their next-to-last day of service.

"Arthur! Come, stop your moping and let's get to the tavern. Van is waiting with our drinks!" Bors shouted as he stood and clapped his commander on the back.

"Yes, come on Arthur, it's not everyday that we knights get to go to the bar and have a round of drinks," Lancelot joked with a grin.

Laughing, Arthur rose to join his men, replacing the harsh reminders of those lost with the celebrations of their pending freedom.

_The next day…_

Arthur and his Sarmatian knights galloped across the plains of Britain surrounded by an air of excitement and came to a stop on a low hill, overlooking a small valley. Traveling through said valley was a small caravan of Roman soldiers and two carriages.

"Ah, as promised, the bishop's carriage," said Gawain.

"Our freedom, Bors," said Galahad.

"Hmm…I can almost taste it," came the reply from Bors, making the other knights laugh.

"And your passage to Rome Arthur," added Gawain as the group looked down upon the oncoming travelers.

Arthur acknowledged this with a nod, but his gaze was fixed on a rider that seemed out of place.

At the end of the caravan rode a man all in black, seated on a black stallion, wrapped in a black cloak, the hood obscuring Arthur's view of his face. The commander watched as the rider stopped and slowly turned his steed toward the tree line, as if searching for something, and obviously finding it in the arrow that flashed past his head.

Arthur was pulled away from his perusal of the mysterious rider when a band of Woads following the arrow came leaping out of the forest, attacking the soldiers.

The knights jumped to attention and raced down the hill to defend the bringer of their freedom, or, more so, make sure nothing happened to the discharge papers. Arthur pulled Excalibur out of its scabbard and twirled it dangerously; Lancelot took out his twin swords; Tristan and Galahad aimed their bows; Gawain grasped his spear; Bors with his axe; and Dagonet rode swiftly, sword in hand. They set about killing the blue Britons.

Marsile watched as many of the soldiers fell under blows from swords and axes or with arrows sticking out of various places on their bodies. Grabbing her bow from the saddle, she sighted the tree the archer was perched in and, notching an arrow, took her shot, satisfied with the plop the man made as he hit the ground.

Looking back at the carriages, Marsile noted that seven armored men had joined the fray and were quickly dispatching the blue nuisances. Slinging the bow on her back and taking hold of her sword, Marsile jumped down off her horse and slew the first Woad to cross her path, but was soon surrounded.

Once the bodies hit the ground, she saw a mounted Roman soldier losing to the three Britons attacking him. Almost all of their comrades had fallen but these last few were persistent. Marsile started toward the soldier, reaching behind her shoulder and pulling two arrows from the quiver strapped to her back. Firing, the arrows took down two of the three while the soldier finished off the last one tiredly.

Bors was triumphantly yelling "Rus" as he walked around the battle zone. Arthur had just let one of the Woads go free and was staring intently into the woods. He came back to his senses and walked to the carriage where Bors had stopped, looking inside.

As Arthur approached, Bors turned and said, "What a bloody mess" indicating the body inside with an arrow through its temple.

"That's not the bishop," Arthur said suspiciously after taking a closer look at the dead man. He walked around the carriage to stand in front of the remaining Romans.

"Glad to see your military skills are still of use…Bishop," he said to the soldier still mounted, the Black Rider standing near him.

"Artorius, you are the image of your father! I haven't seen you since childhood," replied Germanus.

"Welcome to Britain. I see your…device worked," Arthur said grimly as he pointed out the dead decoy now being removed from the carriage.

Marsile looked disgustedly at the poor soldier who had been chosen to sit in the Bishop's place in this enemy infested country.

"Ancient tricks…for an ancient dog," Germanus responded with a smile on his face. He glanced around at the knights, who despite their best efforts, looked angered with the bishop's nonchalance toward the wasted life. "So these are the great Sarmatian knights we have heard so much of in Rome. Hmm. Well, let me introduce to you _our_ great Sarmatian knight _in_ Rome."

He dismounted and walked toward Arthur. "Knight, come forward."

Nothing.

Germanus turned his head in the direction of the Black Rider and pointed his finger at the ground next to him, indicating that he should move there. The rider remained where he was, just shifted his weight to the other leg and crossed his arms, bow still in hand. The knights hid their grins as they recognized and secretly applauded the obvious show of disrespect toward the Bishop from this new knight.

"Knight, would you _please_ come forward," the bishop asked through clenched teeth. Only then did the rider move to stand in front of Arthur and the others.

"Arthur, may I present to you the knight Marsile. I'm sure you have heard of this one," added Germanus under his breath.

"Marsile? Of course I have heard of him. He has come to be a very respected figure to all Romans," Arthur replied, not a little shocked to have the knight he had heard so much of in front of him. Soldiers new to the wall from Rome would share their encounters with the knight, so tales of the man's skills had preceded him.

Marsile couldn't help but smirk as she stepped even closer and pulled down the hood of her cloak. She didn't think the moment could get any better when every single one of the knight's jaws dropped open.

"What's wrong gentlemen? They must not have women on this bloody island, because right now, you certainly look like you've never seen one before!" Marsile laughed shortly.

"Well, the soldiers never mentioned anything about this," Arthur thought, but was the first to recover after several drawn-out seconds of silence. "Apologies milady. I just never expected you to be…a-"

"Woman? I can see that," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she scanned through the men in front of her. Her gaze rested on a knight with long blonde hair, but was soon elsewhere. The smile quickly disappeared.

"I think we had better stop standing around and get a move on. I, for one, am eager to reach the fortress and receive what is long over-due me. Bishop, you should ride in the carriage for the remainder of the trip."

The other knights seemed to agree wholeheartedly and mounted their horses. Seeing their non-hesitant response, Marsile nodded slightly and whistled for Artay as the wagons started to roll forward again once the bishop was settled inside. The knights, curious to see more of this woman's skill, watched in fascination as she leapt astride the stallion without the horse breaking the pace of his canter from the tree line, fifty yards away. Once seated, Marsile continued on to the front of the caravan, inspecting the damage to the supplies and loss of life among the soldiers as she went.

Once everyone was moving, Marsile rode next to Arthur as she was introduced one by one to the Sarmatian Knights of Britain on the slow march toward the wall. She learned that the dark one with tattoos on his cheekbones was Tristan, the scout; Dagonet was the giant of a man who nodded his greeting gently; the one with the charming and arrogant grin was Lancelot; Galahad with the boyish face; Bors, the loudest of the group; and Gawain, the tall, blonde knight she had surveyed earlier.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet the great Sarmatian knights of legend one hears so much about," Marsile said. "And to be around some of my own people once again."

This quieted the group, the knights taking a moment to remember what they could of their homeland.

"Tristan, ride ahead and make sure the road is clear," Arthur ordered the scout to shake off the silence that had settled about them like dust. Tristan then launched his hawk to the skies and rode off ahead of them.

"There are so few of you," Marsile mentioned quietly enough for Arthur's ears only.

The Roman commander was about to give back some kind of retort, but the bitterness died on his tongue upon seeing the saddened look upon her face.

"It is hard…" she began, "to lose such faithful men. Men you have lived and fought with for so long." Arthur only nodded, the memory of his fallen knights flashing again through his mind.

Almost as if snapping out of a daze, Marsile straightened in the saddle and a neutral mask covered her face.

"When we arrive at Hadrian's Wall, I wish to speak with you about something of importance when you have the time, Commander," she said hastily and slowed Artay to fall just behind the other knights, sorting through her thoughts.

When the group came in sight of the wall sometime later, Gawain, Bors and Galahad began talking of what they would do upon their return home after receiving their discharge. As the youngest of the knights rode forward, Marsile crept ahead just slightly behind them, listening to the two men.

"…Going to do is find myself a beautiful Sarmatian woman to wed," Gawain was saying.

"Beautiful Sarmatian woman? Why do you think we left in the first place? Moo!" Bors replied, then asked Lancelot his plans. He made a comment that caused the other men to laugh before riding ahead to speak with Arthur.

Marsile furrowed her brows and decided now was the time to make her presence known. She came up along side Bors and cleared her throat with a raised eyebrow thrown in for effect. Bors and the others turned to face her and grinned. She looked straight at Bors and couldn't stop herself.

"Moo…"

Bors' grin turned to a grimace of guilt.

"Sorry, I forgot-" he started but was quickly interrupted by Marsile.

"Don't worry about it Bors. After all, it's common knowledge that Sarmatian men are asses, so the women are entitled to be cows," came the teasing response over her shoulder as she rode further up the line. The knights laughed while Bors muttered to himself, just a little disturbed that this new lady knight fit right in with their lot.

The eight riders led the caravan through the large gates of Hadrian's Wall and into a small courtyard near the stables. While dismounting, the bishop climbed down from the carriage to be met by saluting soldiers.

"Bishop, my quarters have been made available to you," Arthur stated.

"Yes…I must rest. Such travel is tiring," came Germanus's response as he entered the fortress behind the servant leading him to the rooms, causing Marsile to roll her eyes in annoyance.

"My lady, Jols here will show you to a room so that you may also rest. It is a long journey from Rome to Britain," said Arthur to Marsile.

"You have no idea," she muttered after nodding her thanks to Arthur, following Jols to the doorway.

"Oh and Arthur? I am no noble, my name will suffice, no 'Lady' need be placed before it," she added before stepping into the building.

**Next Chapter: Revelations**


	5. Revelations

**Almost Had It All**

**Chapter Three – Revelations**

_I want a normal life  
just like a new born child  
I am a lover hater  
I am an instigator  
You are an oversight  
Don't try to compromise  
I'll learn to love to hate it  
I am not integrated _

Just call my name  
You'll be okay  
Your scream is burning through my veins

Sooner or later your gonna hate it  
Go ahead and throw your life away  
Driving me under, leaving me out there  
Go ahead and throw your life away

You're like an infantile  
I knew it all the while  
You sit and try to play me  
Just like you see on tv  
I am an oversight  
Just like a parasite  
Why am I so pathetic  
I know you won't forget it

Sooner or later your gonna hate it  
Go ahead and throw my life away  
Driving me under, leaving me out there  
Go ahead and throw my life away

Sooner or later your gonna hate it  
Go ahead and throw our life away  
Driving me under, leaving me out there  
Go ahead and throw our life away

Throw our life away  
Ooooo  
Throw our life away

"_Sooner or Later" Breaking Benjamin_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Hadrian's Wall, Courtyard…_

The moment Jols and Marsile stepped through the doorway, Arthur slowly turned to gaze at his knights, standing silently, just as dumbfounded by the day's events as he.

With collective released breaths and shrugs, the knights and commander made their way to the stables to care for their horses. Leading them to their respective stalls, the men began to remove saddles, bridles, blankets of various styles and colors and rubbed down the great beasts.

"Now…who'd have thought that that 'Great Warrior' in Rome, was a woman?" Bors stated while checking the hooves of his dark stallion, finally voicing what the others were thinking.

"Certainly not I," Arthur replied. He stopped to think how ridiculous they must have looked with their mouths hanging open in surprise, shaking his head in amusement.

Tristan, annoyed that he hadn't noticed something – anything, for that matter - to hint at the fact that the rider from the caravan had been a woman, said nothing. As a scout, it was his duty to notice what others did not, and he wasn't about to admit that this woman had slipped past his senses.

"I don't think any of us have met a knight that looked quite like that," Lancelot quipped, remembering the face that the withdrawn hood had revealed. "If the rest of her compares with the face, then I can only imagine what the body must look-"

"Quiet Lancelot! She is a knight, same as us; and a Sarmatian," Dagonet interrupted sternly.

"Doesn't change what she looks like," the cheeky knight muttered under his breath, receiving a nod from Galahad in the next stall.

"And what was that you said about beautiful Sarmatian women Bors?" Lancelot added, receiving curses and mumbles from the man.

During the conversation Gawain had kept unusually silent. As he brushed the sweat from his horse's coat, he thought of the new arrival. "There's something about her that seems so familiar. What is it I'm missing?" he thought, remembering the hopeful look upon her face as she had scanned through the knights earlier. She had met his concentrated gaze, but had turned away before he could figure out why he felt like he had seen her before.

Pulled from his thoughts, Gawain raised his head to look at Bors, who was calling his name from the stable entrance, the others already making their way to shed armor and be at the tavern in time for the first round of drinks.

"I'll just be a moment longer," Gawain yelled out placing the brush on its hook and patting the horse's back as he walked around to his head.

"Rest friend," he said to the stallion.

On his way out, Gawain turned to look at the stall where the stable hand had placed Marsile's horse, Artay, and decided to get acquainted.

Rubbing his hand over the stallion's snout, Gawain whispered, "I'll figure it out eventually."

Then he turned and resumed the walk to his room and then the tavern, disturbed that that particular stall would only add more puzzlement to the question of Marsile.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Guest rooms…_

_Aylin stood aloof, watching her home burn to the ground. Screaming did no good, she knew from earlier experiences. No matter how loud she yelled and screamed out, her past wouldn't change._

_She shivered as, once again, she saw her father, then her mother fall under the blows of Roman blades. _

"_How many times must I relive this?" she shouted out, just to have the words echo back to her, unheard by any other._

_Aylin could even count the beats from memory before two small figures rushed by her, unseeing of the woman who stood, watching the devastation. _

_She turned to follow the two children with her eyes as two Roman soldiers caught hold of them mid-stride, roughly pulling them apart. Aylin watched as the younger version of herself cried out for her brother as the young boy fought in vain to keep the men from harming her._

_The soldier hauled Kavan off in the opposite direction, his screams becoming distorted and distant as the land around them started to fade…_

Marsile lay there quietly with her eyes closed firmly. She had woken to more nightmares and it had taken her a moment to adjust to her surroundings.

It had been at least three hours since she had arrived at the Wall with the others and had been taken to this room to rest, but the memories that played themselves in her sleep drained whatever rest she had received.

Sitting up, she rested her head in one hand while the other reached over her bare shoulder to finger the raised skin of the brand on her left shoulder blade. With a sigh, she brought both hands to rub her face, trying to quell the sharp headache exploding behind her eyes.

Marsile blindly reached under the edge of the straw mattress for the bag she had hidden there when the maid who had come to draw her bath and take her clothes hadn't been looking. "This will put off the headache for a while," she thought.

After the pain seemed to recede a little bit, she stood and glared at the red Roman style dress the maid had draped over a chair. Sighing, Marsile reluctantly slipped on the dress, fastening the metal clasps at the shoulders and tying the thin rope under her bust.

"At least it's clean," she said to herself.

A knock sounded on the door and Jols voice could be heard on the other side.

"Marsile?"

"Yes."

The door opened and Jols peered inside.

"The others are waiting in the council room for the Bishop, but Arthur mentioned you had something you wished to ask him?"

Marsile nodded and followed the squire out of the room.

She had some questions that needed answers.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Council Room…_

When Jols opened the large doors to the council chamber, Marsile wasn't surprised in the least to see a continuation of the fort's Roman décor, but she couldn't say the same for the large round table set in the center of the room where the men where seated. Lighted braziers lined the walls, casting shadows on the table's carvings.

"Never would I have thought to see such a table in a Roman holding," she said out loud, casting the statement to Arthur, who sat a few chairs away from Lancelot.

The knights stood, a little shocked to see her in a dress, and waited until she took a seat near their commander before retaking their own.

Arthur turned in his chair toward her, and asked expectantly,

"You said before you wished to speak with me, Marsile?"

"Yes, I did. But first I must ask that you call me Aylin," she noticed Gawain stiffen at the name and continued, "Marsile was the name the people of Rome called me, but Aylin is my true name.

"Some of you, after hearing that, may already know what direction this conversation is headed," Aylin said, nodding at Gawain.

"Why don't you fill in the rest of us?" Arthur asked quietly.

"That's why you looked so familiar to me," Gawain said. "You have the same movements in battle, the same hair and eyes…"

"What are you talking about?" Galahad asked confused, the other knights nodding their agreement.

"Do you not see it?" Gawain questioned back, the others looking to Aylin for whatever it was Gawain saw.

"She does resemble him," Tristan said softly from his chair next to Bors.

"Would someone please explain to me what is going on here," the loud knight exclaimed.

"They are discussing my likeness in features to that of my brother, Kavan," Aylin said coolly, causing Arthur to look sharply at her.

"That is what I wanted to speak with you about. I learned on my own that Kavan had been stationed at this post under the command of Artorius Castus. By arriving here and not seeing him among you, I now know that my brother is dead. But what I wish for you to tell me is when and how."

After a moment of silence, Arthur said, "Kavan was killed in a Woad ambush about three years ago."

Aylin sat silently, her elbow propped on the table. She hadn't cried in eleven years and she didn't know if she could now for the brother she had lost, but had not seen since she was five years old. Her lids closed over dry eyes as she tried to her face emotionless.

Saddened, Aylin looked upon Arthur's face. "At least now he is at peace. I only wish the rest of us had the same luxury. And now I know his fate. It's better than not knowing at all, I guess."

"Yes. It's better than not knowing," Gawain said.

Tristan watched Aylin through the hair that hung in his eyes. There had been just a slight crack in her composure, so slight that had he not been looking for it, he wouldn't have seen it. He didn't fail to notice, as he watched Aylin replace the pain with the same impassive face she had showed them earlier after the ambush, that, like he, she wasn't one to show her emotions. "Unless, of course, when she's angry," he thought, remembering the hatred in her eyes when interacting with the bishop.

With a sigh, Aylin sobered her face and said, "Well, now you know my secret. Let us remove ourselves from sad thoughts, after all, this is our last night of service to Rome."

With a cheer the knights accepted the cups handed them by servants entering the room. Tristan took his with a nod of thanks, but kept his eyes on Aylin. For some reason he doubted that they had learned her only secret. But he promised himself that he would find out more of this woman who intrigued him so…the woman that turned out to be his late brother-in-arms' long lost sister.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

When Jols entered the room followed by the Bishop's secretary, Horton, a while later, the knights and Aylin were already simmering with impatience.

"Well, well rodent. How nice of you to finally join us," Aylin spat, causing the man to shiver under her cold stare.

"May I present His Eminence, Bishop Naius…Germanus," he said with trembling conceit, or what would have been conceit if he hadn't stuttered in fear of Aylin and upon seeing the round table set in the middle of the room, effectively ruining his rehearsed introduction.

The Bishop entered with a line of servants behind him carrying golden chalices, but stopped with a disgusted look on his face when he too saw the table.

Aylin heard Horton whispering harshly to Jols, who looked only _too_ happy to inform the puny Roman of the reasons for such a table with a pleased grin on his face. She concealed a smirk. One point Jols, zero Horton.

Looking around as the chalices were passed out to the knights, the bishop spoke,

"I was given to understand there would be more of you."

With a scoff, Arthur replied, "There were. We have been fighting here for fifteen years, Bishop."

Aylin looked to the table as memories of her brother flashed through her mind. Then looked up again in annoyance as the Bishop began speaking of Rome's debt to these knights for their service.

"Like Rome really cares for the protection of outpost," Aylin thought, angered at Germanus's false praise.

"To your final days of service to the empire," the Bishop finished, causing Aylin to raise a questioning eyebrow.

She obviously wasn't the only one to catch the error, as Lancelot growled,

"Day. Not days."

Of course, the Bishop merely waved a hand in dismissal.

As everyone resettled in his or her seats, Aylin internally sighed, knowing that, once again, something wasn't going to go the way it was supposed to.

Though when the box carrying the papers of discharge were handed to the Bishop, every knight sat straighter in his, or in one case – her - chair.

"Knights…your discharge papers," the Bishop said unnecessarily. "But first…I must have a word with your Commander."

"We have no secrets," Arthur replied suspiciously.

Germanus didn't answer, but he did slam the lid to the box closed with a loud bang.

"Come, let's leave Roman Business to Romans," Lancelot said dangerously, tipping his cup in mock respect to man.

Slowly, Aylin and the others made their way toward the doors, but not before Tristan confiscated a one of the golden chalices.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Compound tavern…_

While Arthur and Germanus continued their talk, the others settled themselves easily, wine in hand, at the tavern. Aylin sat on a stool by the wall and watched a knife-throwing contest erupt between Galahad and Gawain. Amused at the former's glee at his success in embedding the dagger in a chair edge, Aylin stood and watched Tristan throw one of his own into the handle of Galahad's.

"Tristan…How do you do that?" Gawain asked, his words slightly slurred because of the large amount of wine his tongue absorbed like a sponge.

"I aim for the middle," the scout replied, nonchalantly biting into his apple.

He stopped, apple held in his mouth, when a brilliantly carved dagger flew past his head from behind and landed square in the center of his own knife, leaving now three knives, end-to-point, sticking from the chair.

Everyone turned to look at Aylin, who leaned against the wall with a mischievous grin.

"How did you do that?" Tristan asked around the piece of apple still in his cheek, surprised and, despite himself, impressed.

"I aim for the middle," she said, repeating his earlier words.

Laughing, she walked forward, pulled the daggers from the post. Sheathing her own, she tossed the other two back to their owners, before sitting at a table with Dagonet. Also sitting was Bors, with his lover (and mother of his elevenbastards, as Aylin had learned earlier), Vanora, on his lap.

"So Vanora, how is the recent addition fairing?" Dagonet asked.

"'O, he's just fine, starting to teeth, but just fine," she replied, filling Aylin's cup with wine from the jar she held.

"Yep, my Vanora here had to wait almost two whole days before our first was born," Bors stated proudly.

The wine Aylin had just drunk spewed across the table.

"Excuse me? You were in labor for almost two days?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes. Lucky for me, after the fourth one, they've justslid right out!" the woman proclaimed with a smile.

Aylin thought she might have just swallowed her tongue. "Why would any woman in her right mind go through such torture eleven times?" She asked herself, taking another drink of her wine.

Bors soon forced Vanora to sing, dragging her to the center of the open tavern, her baby held gently in her arms, while everyone laughed and chanted 'Sing!'.

Aylin listened sadly to the song of home. She wondered, recalling the earlier incident in the Council Room, how long it would be before she returned home; and if she even had a home she wished to return to now that she was without any family.

As the song ended, Galahad called upon Arthur, who had been standing in the shadows at the perimeter of the tavern. Looking at the expression on his face, Aylin silently abandoned any plans of leaving soon.

"Knights…Brothers-in-Arms. Long have we fought together, but now I must ask you for one further trial before our freedom is given…-"

"Drink!" Bors suggested.

"A Roman family is trapped in the North by Saxons. Our orders are to retrieve them and bring them safely to the Wall," he told the disbelieving knights.

"Let the Romans take care of their own," Bors stated.

"These are our orders Bors," Arthur replied.

"North of the Wall…is Woad territory," Gawain pointed out grimly.

Aylin watched as Galahad reacted sharply to a comment from Tristan and yelled at Arthur. Aylin smiled as Dagonet quieted the others and announced that he would prepare; she had only known him for a day, but she could already sense Dagonet's immense loyalty to those he cared for.

Arthur noticed her watching from her position at the table. "I am sorry Aylin, but these new orders apply to you as well," he said tiredly before turning on his heel and striding to the stables, Lancelot close behind.

Telling herself that all would be well, Aylin glanced at her palm, her eyes drawn to the bleeding crescents lying there. Okay, maybe she was just a little upset. She abruptly pushed her chair back from the table, stood and made her way to her room, heedless of those calling out to her.

Aylin sensed someone following slowly behind her, but she didn't care. The temper Gattus had nicknamed her for was clawing its way through her, and she desperately needed something to unleash it on.

"Oh, this is perfect," she mused as she sighted Horton scurrying down the hall, though stopping in fear when he noticed her there.

Grabbing him by the throat as he tried to flee from her, Aylin slammed the man back into the wall, cutting off his air supply with a tight squeeze.

"I don't know what game Germanus is playing, but believe me when I say this: when I get back, nothing will stop me from doing what I've wished to do to him. You tell him that. Do I make myself clear?" she questioned slowly as his eyes started to bulge.

At the man's affirmative squeak, Aylin released her grip on his neck and pushed him down the hall.

Taking a few deep breaths, she turned to face Tristan, who was casually leaned on the wall a few feet away.

"Did you enjoy the show?" Aylin asked, irritated that he would follow her.

The scout just nodded and left.

Shaking her head in confusion at the man's actions, Aylin resumed stalking to her room.

**Next Chapter: Northern Country**


	6. Northern Country

**Almost Had It All**

**Chapter Four – Northern Country**

_I wanted to find somewhere to hide  
__And I opened up and left those fears inside  
__And I wanted to be anyone else  
__Only to find that there was no one there but me_

_But I woke up to the real life  
__And I realized it's not worth running from anymore  
__When there was nowhere left to hide I found out  
__That nothing's real here but I won't stop now  
__Until I find a better part of me_

_I let those hard days get me down  
__And all the things I hate got in my way  
__I could have screamed without a sound  
__I found myself silenced by those things they say_

_But I woke up to the real life  
__And I realized it's not worth running from anymore  
__When there was nowhere left to hide I found out  
__That nothing's real here but I won't stop now  
__Until I find a better part of me_

_That's out there somewhere  
__And it can't be that far away  
__That's where I'll find myself  
__And I'll find my way out  
__That's where I'll find out_

_But I woke up to the real life  
__And I realized it's not worth running from anymore  
__When there was nowhere left to hide I found out  
__That nothing's real here  
__but I won't stop now  
__Until I find a better part of me_

"_The Real Life" 3 Doors Down_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Badon Hill…_

The next morning found Aylin kneeled in a dazed silence. Dawn was just now creeping on Badon Hill, casting a slight glow over the fortress.

The call of the birds brought her back to reality. She glanced to the woods in front of her and smiled when she saw the brightly colored blue birds flying at high speeds around the trees. But soon the smile vanished and her eyes were drawn once again to the green mound before her.

Aylin couldn't remember how long she had been there. Shortly after returning to her room and finding that sleep once again eluded her, she had come to this place.

Looking for closure.

So far, she hadn't found it. Sighing, she placed her hand on the raised earth.

"Brother…" she whispered, willing herself to cry.

But no tears fell, and she hated herself for it.

"Perhaps…it is best. That you are already gone, so you can't see what they've made me… What I've made myself," she added, but then stood and whipped around at the sound of footfalls behind her.

"Whoa! It's just me," Gawain said softly, hands raised in peace at the dagger raised to his throat.

Retracting her weapon and placing it in its proper sheath, Aylin stared at the man expectantly.

Seeing the hint, Gawain said, "I saw you from the fortress and decided to join you."

She seemed to accept this and moved again to sit at Kavan's grave. Gawain took a chance and sat next to her. When there was no protest, he settled more comfortably.

"I recognize that," she said so quietly that Gawain strained to hear her.

Aylin was looking at the sword that was embedded at the head of the burial mound.

"It was my father's sword… Before he was killed. I had forgotten that Kavan had taken it."

"It rightfully belongs to you now, as his only surviving relative. Why do you not take it?" Gawain asked after a pause.

With a mirthless laugh, Aylin answered,

"No. I couldn't do that. He earned the honor of bearing the sword of our Father. I will not take it from him now."

Gawain watched her from the corner of his eye. He noted the harsh look upon her tan face, the iciness of her blue eyes. He also took notice of their softening when looking upon her father's sword.

Aylin felt the sadness in her grow when her eyes came to the sword's hilt. There lay something she never thought to see again.

Moving to her knees, she reached out and grasped the necklace, identical to her own, that hung there. Rubbing dust off the surface, she gazed at the crest of her family and her own name.

Gawain saw what she held and smiled sadly, saying,

"Kavan would rub that pendant for luck before we went on missions."

"You knew him well did you not?" Gawain nodded in answer to her question. "Far better than I did I'm afraid. Isn't it terrible? That a man's own sister didn't know him…"

"It wasn't your fault, Aylin," Gawain said in earnest. She looked at him questioningly.

"Kavan told me of what happened in your village: of your parents' deaths, the separation. Rome took him away from you. If there is any fault in you not knowing your brother like you should have, it belongs completely to the Romans."

She gave him what could pass for a smile as she clasped the pendant around her neck to hang with her own. At least in this one little thing, brother and sister could be united again.

"I think if he were still alive the feeling would be mutual. He wouldn't recognize me as that carefree little girl he knew back in Sarmatia."

Gawain hesitated, unsure if he had gained enough of her trust to ask more questions. Though he had only met Aylin the day before, he felt a bond with her. After all, Kavan had been one of his closest friends, his brother.

"That makes Aylin my sister as well. And as such, I need to know about her," he thought and then asked,

"Aylin…what did you mean earlier…when you said 'what they had made of you?'"

"Exactly that." At his confused look and also because he had been a friend of her brother, she decided to elaborate. "Everything I am. Everything I'm made of… Came from necessity, not choice."

She stood and looked down at him.

"You and the others would be ones to understand that certain experiences shape the person," she said as she turned away, saying a Sarmatian farewell in her heart to Kavan.

Gawain stayed for a while longer, surrounded by his fallen friends. He couldn't help but wonder now if he would be able to go home, or if he would join his comrades here, in the little cemetery on Badon Hill. Because he didn't want to think about it, he stood and walked away, leaving the dead behind.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Hadrian's Wall, training yard…_

When he came to the training grounds outside the stables, Gawain was surprised to see a small crowd of soldiers, women and children circled around. Curious to see what the fuss was about this early in the day, he made his way to the fence that separated those training from the spectators.

Already there were Bors, Galahad, and Lancelot sitting on the fence. Gawain leaned on the fence in between Bors and Lancelot and watched Tristan and Aylin's archery competition. So far, Aylin looked a happy at competing with someone who posed a challenge.

Across the way were two man-shaped straw targets. Each was riddled with arrows.

Tristan waited expressionless as Aylin aimed her shot. When released, the arrow split another previously shot in the center of the target. With a nod acknowledging her skill, Tristan pulled three arrows from the quiver on the ground next to him. Lining up the bow, he pulled pack the string.

A loud gasp, followed by laughter erupted from the crowd as all three arrows hit the target in three strategic places: the head, the chest, and the groin. The knights present merely shook their heads in amusement, proud to see that their scout was still the superior archer.

Aylin turned to Tristan with a shocked grin on her face.

He just looked at her and shrugged, his hair falling across his face, but he wasn't quick enough to hide the smile that tipped the corners of his mouth. Aylin's own smile grew when she saw his.

"So the aloof scout has a sense of humor after all!" She mused silently.

Still, Aylin wasn't satisfied. She had come to the grounds with the intention of working out her emotions with a fight. Tristan had already been there, idly shooting his bow, waiting for Arthur to signal their departure, so she had decided to indulge him in a little competition.

Unfortunately, the contest hadn't erased the frustrations she felt. Aylin grabbed her sword from the scabbard at her hip. Once again, glad that the maid had finished washing her clothes. Sparring in a dress wasn't an impossible task for Aylin, but one that she highly detested. Twirling the blade, she looked at her audience, willing someone to come forward and help her with her task.

Lancelot was only too happy to oblige.

Hopping off his perch at the fence, he pulled out his twin swords from their sheaths that he had hung on the fence and walked toward her. She answered with a smile filled with the lust for battle and took up her stance.

The other knights took up bets with each other and some in the crowd, cheering on who ever they had picked to win.

The first clash came seconds later. Lancelot had taken the first offensive move with a heavy slash to Aylin's shoulder, which she pushed away with her sword, but had to jump back as his second sword came around toward her stomach. Looking into his eyes, she saw the arrogance and teasing that came along with his devilish grin.

'_Watch your opponent's eyes and do not focus on his weapon's movements, otherwise you will become dizzy and miss a block._' Cornelius's advice came to Aylin as she noticed that Lancelot watched her body's movement with the sword, and not her eyes. Her friend had taught her well that an opponent's eyes betrayed his next actions.

Determined to wipe the smug look off his face, Aylin rushed by him before he could hit her with his swords and tapped him on the back with the flat of her blade.

Lancelot spun around, wondering how she had gotten behind him so quickly. "Damn is she fast," he thought.

He lunged and found himself yet again without a hit because his opponent was behind him, and damn it, she was smiling.

Lancelot came at her with the force of his twin blades and while she parried most of the blows, her sword still became locked between his two. Pulling her closer, he smirked at her through the X of the blades.

"Give up yet?" He asked sweetly. The grin vanished when she winked at him.

Quickly moving her sword to the right detached the interlocked blades. Aylin kicked up her right leg, hitting Lancelot's left hand, knocking the sword into the air, which she soon caught in her left hand.

Grinning, she twirled her sword and one of Lancelot's before tossing his to the ground a few yards from them.

"Come on Lancelot! Beat her so I can get my money!" Bors yelled over the cheers and groans coming from the spectators.

Regaining his focus, Lancelot lunged again, while Aylin parried his thrusts. She could tell he was tiring, and so decided to end it soon. The next time his sword came swiftly down on her shoulder, she moved to the side, crouched, and kicked his legs out from underneath him.

The air in Lancelot's lungs rushed out as his back hit the ground. Aylin walked to him, kicking his sword away and crouched next to him, sword at his throat.

"Lesson learned: Watch your adversary's face. The eyes tell you what they plan to do next. Do you yield?" Aylin stood when he nodded and offered her hand, which he took.

"Not too bad…" came the attempt to save face.

Because she understood pride, Aylin smiled, then handed him one of his swords. She walked to fence and climbed to where she was straddling the top rail, while Lancelot grabbed his other sword and walked to the stables.

"Thank you Aylin. You just won me some money!" Dagonet shouted. "I happened to come up when bets were being made and it sounded like you were a pretty good one to take."

"Why, thank you Dagonet. Do I get a percentage for my troubles?" She asked teasingly as she took done her long braid, her hair already falling out of the plait.

He laughed and tossed her three copper pieces, which she placed in her pocket before resuming her task.

Gawain was leaning on the fence behind her. "Feel any better?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, brushing through her black hair with her fingers.

"I don't know what you mean," she said then turned back.

"We both know that you needed to get something off your chest. Kavan used to do the same thing. I'm just asking if it worked."

She turned her head so she could see him over her shoulder again; surprised he compared her to her brother.

"Yes. It worked."

He smiled, showing his straight white teeth, blue eyes sparkling. "I'm glad." Then he walked off, probably to the stables.

Aylin watched him until he was out of sight then turned her head forward again.

A group of Roman soldiers stood a little ways away to watch the "dark angel," as they had dubbed her, tie her silky hair into a knot at the back of her head.

Dagonet saw this and looked back to Aylin; seeing that when she had her arms back to tie the thong in her hair, her tunic pulled across her breasts.

Turning back to the soldiers, he glared. One saw him and pointed it out to the others. They quickly found something else to do.

For some reason, Dagonet had decided to take up the role of the overprotective big brother, and he could tell already he was going to have his work cut out for him.

But Dagonet wasn't the only one who had seen; Tristan clenched his dagger from his position by the targets, but relaxed slightly when he saw the men leave. He had no idea why he had reacted in such a way, but he _did_ know he didn't like how the Romans had all but drooled over Aylin.

Aylin finished and climbed down from the post. She walked past Dagonet and patted him on the arm appreciatively, because she had seen the soldiers watching her and what he had done about it. Both of them, followed by Bors, walked to the stables to prepare for the journey.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Hadrian's Wall, stables…_

When Arthur walked into the stables a little while later, all the knights were there doing various tasks: cleaning their weapons, readying their horses. Or in Galahad's case, giving him a hard time.

The young knight was circling his white mare around the center of the stable and when he saw Arthur, he didn't bother to stop as the commander walked past him.

Dagonet, leaning against a stall, frowned at him in disapproval. This seemed to have some effect, as Galahad stopped, dismounted and found something else to occupy his time.

Aylin was seated at the back of the stable, Lancelot and Bors on either side of her on a level, with Gawain in front and Tristan behind them.

No one said anything.

Apparently, there were still some upsets about this extra mission. Especially Aylin, as this would be an extra mission added onto another extra mission.

Tensions that were already high, became even more so when Germanus walked in with Horton following like a hound behind him.

"As a representative of the Church of Rome, Horton will accompany you on your quest…to make sure you do your duty to the Church and…to watch over you," the Bishop announced, the last part said directly to Aylin, a bland mask on the Bishop's face.

In response, Aylin narrowed her eyes in suspicion, while she flipped her dagger over in her hand repeatedly.

"My duty is also to my knights," Arthur said firmly.

The Bishop turned to him with a highly exasperated look. "Then get them home."

After a slight stare-down, Arthur ordered Jols to get Horton a horse. The Bishop smiled disgustingly and left the stables.

Aylin stood, walked around Gawain and up to Horton. Looking her in the eye seemed to be too much for the man, who remembered the altercation with Aylin the night before, because he quickly looked at the ground.

"Stay out of the way, Roman. Whatever the Bishop might have said, you are to disregard or you might find you'll have an… Accident," she said in a threatening tone.

Horton looked up in fear, saw that she wasn't jesting with him, nodded and quickly went to find the horse Jols was loaning him.

Aylin turned to face the men. "If he was told to watch us, then we need to return the favor and watch him."

Arthur nodded his agreement, as did the others. They started to add whatever armor was left to put on when someone clearing their throat interrupted them.

All turned to look at the Roman Lieutenant standing in the center of the stable. Aylin recognized him as the one who had led the caravan from Rome… Bennett was his name, she remembered.

"Yes, Bennett. Did you need something?" She asked, not impolitely because she considered him kind and one of the few good Romans that she knew…and she knew a lot of Romans.

"Yes, My Lady Marsile… I wanted to tell you that it was an honor to have met and served with you, and the others think so as well. We all hope that once you are free… you will still stay in Rome sometimes. I'm sure the Lord Herminius agrees as well…" He rambled on, stopping only when he realized he had spoken of the Emperor's son, not some common soldier.

The poor man; not only did he have the attention of the warrior Marsile focused on him, but also that of the Sarmatian Knights of Hadrian's Wall.

The knights were doing very well hiding their amusement at the man's nervousness in speaking to Aylin. It seemed he had the same reaction to her as every other man did.

Taking pity on Bennett's embarrassment, Aylin stepped forward and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you Bennett. You may pride yourself on being one of so few from Rome that have ever heard my thanks." She smiled and went back to her preparations.

Bennett smiled a very large smile, bowed his head to the knights and left the stables.

Arthur grinned. "Herminius? The Emperor's son?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Aylin warned.

Lancelot couldn't contain himself any longer. "Do we have a 'special' relationship with the 'Lord Herminius?'" Laughter came out with the rest of his question.

"Lancelot…" she said lowly as she turned toward him. "I said I don't want to talk about it.

"The man annoys the hell out of me. Every time I hear his name I feel like beating something… And right now you look pretty good to me. Did you not have enough earlier?" She had succeeded in turned the others' attention to him, because they started in on his loss to her earlier that morning.

Aylin came up beside Artay, rubbing his neck and whispering comforting words to him in her native language.

Tristan watched, as it seemed that the animal almost answered her back. He had heard of "Marisle's" skill with horses and it was even more real now that he knew she was Aylin. He picked up the bundle next to him and walked over to her.

Aylin looked up at his approach and smiled. He handed over the bow, quiver and arrows he had collected for her at the grounds. She took them, strapped the quiver to her back, and placed the bow on the saddle as she thanked him. He didn't answer but nodded and walked to his own horse and mounted.

Aylin followed his example and swung up on Artay's back. Moving the stallion out of the open stall, she stopped when she saw the Jols and the knights still talking.

Finally Arthur spoke, "Men, I would like to arrive at the estate before the Saxons."

They took the hint and mounted their horses. The nine trotted out of the stable and through the courtyard. Horton scrambled to mount the mare Jols had given him to ride and hurriedly rode to join the knights and their squire, afraid to be left behind with the Bishop's wrath.

Nearing the large gate to the North, they rode two by two down the narrow path. Arthur and Lancelot led the group; Bors and Dagonet were next; then Aylin and Gawain; after were Galahad and Tristan, his hawk soaring overhead; Jols and last was the little Roman, Horton, trying desperately to catch up to the powerful war horses on the mare.

The group reached the gate as the heavy doors were pulled open by massive Clydesdales, dust shooting out of the hinges from lack of use.

And then they were off into the Northern Country on a journey that would stir up things much more complicated than simply escorting a Roman family.

**Next Chapter: History**

**A/N: Hey guys. I just wanted to tell you that on Wednesday, June 22, I will be leaving for a five-day vacation. But I will try to have to next chapter up sometime at the end of next week. Thanks. **

**Also, some of you might have noticed that Aylin's relationship with Gawain has changed. In the first version, there was a Gawain/OC pairing. But after writing a few chapters, I realized that Aylin had much more in common with Tristan and truly believed that Aylin and Gawain could just be friends. Hope those of you who like Tristan/OC fics are reading and sorry to those who were rooting for Gawain. – Chevalliata**


	7. History

**ALMOST HAD IT ALL **

**Chapter Five – History**

_Take me and let me in  
Don't break me and shut me out _

So take me and let me in  
Don't break me and shut me out

_I lit my pain on fire  
And I watched it all burn down  
Now I'm dancing in the ashes  
And there's no one else around  
Cause I wanna be apart of something  
This is just a story of a broken soul _

As days go by, my heart grows cold  
I can't seem to let this all pass me by

_So take me and let me in  
Don't break me and shut me out _

_I'm burning in the heavens  
And I'm drowning in a hell  
My soul is in a coma  
And none of my friends can tell  
That I'm reaching out and getting nothing  
This is just a story of a broken soul _

As days go by, my heart grows cold  
I can't seem to let this all pass me by

So take me and let me in  
Don't break me and shut me out

_Don't shut me out _

_Does anyone around me feel the same  
Put your fist up and vent your pain  
Does anyone around me feel the same  
Put your fist up and vent your pain  
Does anyone around me feel the same  
Put your fist up and vent your pain  
Does anyone around me feel the same  
Put your fist up and vent your pain _

As days go by, my heart grows cold  
I can't seem to let this all pass me by

So take me and let me in  
Don't break me and shut me out

As days go by, my heart grows cold  
I can't seem to let this all pass me by

_Take Me  
Don't Break Me_

"_Take Me" Papa Roach_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_North of Hadrian's Wall…_

Once they had passed the gate, the knights broke formation and rode in random order and form, the way they liked best. This is how they rode for hours, occasionally slowing to walk, allowing the horses to catch their wind and rest strained muscles, as they were doing right now. Surprisingly, Horton had kept up decent pace, but he did look to be more exhausted than the horse he sat upon.

"Beware Christian, the Blue Demons native to this land eat your kind for supper," Bors said lowly, barely concealing his amusement in torturing the fearful Roman.

"E-Eat-Christians?" Stuttered Horton, "They actually…eat people?"

"O, yeah. The land is littered with the bones of Christians," he paused as an audible gulp came from Horton's direction. Looking around him, Bors could see the others listening to the conversation with smirks. "Christians…such as you," he finished.

Aylin turned her head forward again to ensure that Horton didn't see the wicked mirth that shone in her blue eyes. "Poor rodent, too gullible for his own good." She thought, listening as Bors continued his assault.

"Bors is known for his sarcasm," Dagonet mentioned quietly, but not without humor as he brought his horse over to hers.

"I can see that," she said back, mirth still in her eyes.

After a few moments of silence, Dagonet decided to keep her talking. "So, what are your plans for after we return and our freedom is given?"

Aylin thought for a while, remembering how many times she had almost been free, but had men like Crassus snatch all hope of freedom away from her grasp.

"I truly do not know. I've never looked to or planned the future. As a fighter, one cannot think too far ahead. I've never thought of what I might do with myself once I'm free. Freedom. It's an almost forgotten memory."

Dagonet nodded, for he too knew what it felt like to be unsure. Yes, most assumed he would stay with Bors and his lot, but a part of him _did_ wish to go back to Sarmatia and see if his own family was still living. He was over thirty summers old, had been on this island for eighteen years - for the majority of his life. He returned his gaze to Aylin when he heard her coughing.

"Are you all right?"

After a few more moments of harsh coughing, she lied easily.

"I'm fine. The weather and the bishop delayed our travel several times. I guess I am suffering the ill effects of riding in constant rain storms."

Dagonet acknowledged her statement with a grunt while anger grew in his mind thinking of Aylin being forced to travel in horrible conditions because of a spoiled clergyman.

"No wonder their caravan had been so late in arriving!" he thought.

He turned to say so, but noticed that she was surveying the land and wasn't looking at him. His eyes were drawn to the reins and her fingers clenching and unclenching upon them, not a little surprised to see this nervous gesture from a woman he had only seen completely composed. But Dagonet told himself not to mention anything about it as Arthur called for a gallop again.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Late into the night, the knights stopped to gain a few hours rest for themselves and their horses. Tristan had found a fairly large clearing near a creek where they could refill their water skins and make camp.

Once the horses were given water and tied to trees, Bors was elected to gather wood for a small fire from the surrounding forest, while Tristan and Galahad searched for food. Once Bors returned with the firewood, Aylin took it from him and set about making the fire.

An hour later, they had eaten the rabbit brought back by Tristan; Galahad just a little snubbed that he hadn't caught anything. He had muttered something about "small, fast game is almost impossible to catch in the dark" and "bloody scout isn't even human."

Spread out enough to be ready in case of an attack, but still close to the fire for warmth, all the knights but Tristan settled on their bedrolls, their cloaks wrapped tightly about them. The scout was off doing whatever it was he did when the knights made camp.

Jols looked annoyed from his position by the secretary Horton, where Arthur had ordered him to sit while keeping an eye on the Roman.

Tired of the silence that encircled them, Galahad decided he would ask Aylin more about herself.

"Aylin?"

"Yes?" Came the unenthusiastic response across the fire.

"Tell us of your time in Rome," he urged. Aylin just stared at him.

"I don't think it is your place to ask Galahad – it isn't any of our business," Arthur stated sternly, remembering stories of the knight's great hatred for Rome.

"It was just a simple question," the young knight murmured.

With a sigh, Aylin said, "He's right. It _is_ none of your business."

"Well, you certainly weren't away learning manners," Lancelot scoffed, causing the group to quiet down.

After a tense pause were the others looked back and forth between Lancelot and Aylin as the latter's eyes turned to flame, Aylin spoke, her tone was laced with an underlying danger.

"No, you're right. I didn't have much free time to spend learning to be polite to cocky son-of-a-bitches such as you, Lancelot. Less-than-kind soldiers took me, a mere five year old, from my home, after they tired of pleasuring themselves with the dead women of my tribe. Taken, and sold as a slave to a man named Lucius Canimas.

"Seven years I wished for death and it never came. But Lucius made sure that my fate was worse than death. I eventually escaped and Lucius finally got what was coming to him."

Aylin stood and noticed Arthur's incredulous expression. The commander had obviously heard of the senator's unexpected killing.

"Yes, Arthur. I murdered one of your precious Christians, was almost executed for it, and sentenced for ten years to this life because of it. And if I had to go back, the only thing I would change would be to kill him in a more painful way than just a knife in the heart."

Having said that, Aylin turned on her heel and walked away from the clearing, calling over her shoulder that she would take up watch.

The men sat in a stunned silence.

"Lancelot… Sometimes I wonder if your mouth is connected to your brain," Arthur sighed.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sitting quietly on a rock in the woods, Aylin cursed the fiery temper she had inherited from her mother's side of the family. With a groan, she placed her head in unsteady hands.

"Great. Just great, Aylin. You try to earn their trust by telling them you're a murderer!" she muttered shaking her head, her arms swaying with the movement.

"We are all murderers here," a gruff voice said, causing Aylin to jerk her head from her palms.

"Shit! Why don't you make some noise when you're coming up to someone? That way you might not end up with a blade at your throat!"

"I am a scout. It's my job to be quiet. And you don't even have your sword drawn," Tristan pointed out.

With a glare, Aylin conceded that he was right, though it hurt the pride to admit it, even if it was only to herself. She had once preferred scouting; had been one of the best. But that was before her body had been unable to perform the duty safely and she had stepped back from the position without explanation.

"Well, you're not scouting me, so next time make some goddamn noise!" She said angrily, sliding down the rock to rest her back upon it, her head leaned back to allow her eyes the view of the stars and moon overhead.

Tristan sat next to her without asking or really caring if she wanted him to or not.

Several minutes passed while the two sat in companionable silence.

"I guess you heard," Aylin stated.

"Yes. You weren't exactly being quiet, but I was close enough to hear," he replied after a pause.

They returned to silence.

Aylin relaxed after a few moments, feeling that Tristan did not judge or pity her.

"When I was a child back in Sarmatia… I would watch the moon rise in night sky, and only after she seemed settled in her place with the stars did I go to sleep.

"My mother would jest that I would always be a daughter of the moon. Telling me stories of how I would rest peacefully in her womb at night… And only on the night of the new moon would she catch a glimpse of the spitfire I would be once birthed.

"Kavan told me that when I was born, our mother took one look at me and said that my eyes reminded her of the light that shines around the moon, and so named me Aylin."

Tristan listened quietly as she spoke. Indeed her eyes did remind those who looked into them of the moon. A pale blue circled around the black center, then faded into deeper blues.

"After _they_ came, and every was gone, I would still watch for the moon each night… And imagine things as they once were: that I was still on the plain outside my home, losing myself in the night sky. But that was before I was sold and placed in a room with no windows. Seven years without the moon to help me remember."

As they both sat and watched the stars, Tristan thought on what Aylin had said. He had never once, in all of the eighteen years since he had been taken from Sarmatia, thought of the effect their ancestors' oath had on those left behind. Hadn't really wanted to. He was pulled from his cogitation by Aylin's voice.

"And what of you?"

"What of me?"

"What was your tribe like? Your life like before all of this?"

After a moment's hesitation, the scout began to tell her of his home.

"Mine was an eastern tribe. I lived with my father, mother and two younger sisters. My father had been one of the men that had survived his service. Some called him lucky, but I don't think he ever thought of himself as such. My mother said that he had changed from the boy she had known as a child: he was quieter, more watchful, no longer had the carefree air about him as he once did.

"I think he felt his freedom was received unfairly as most of his comrades had not lived to see their own. Now that I am to receive mine in the next few days, I can understand his sentiment," he stopped to see Aylin close her eyes at the indirect mention of her brother.

"How old were you when they came?" She asked softly.

"Fourteen. When my group was on our way to the training post, we passed through a burnt village off the western coast of the Sea of Azov." He sent her a knowing look. "I am sorry."

Aylin turned and gave him a sad smile. "You know… I think that is the most I've heard you say since I met you."

"I say it because you are a person who understands what I speak of."

She nodded and turned back to the stars. A moment passed before she spoke softly.

"I lied earlier."

Aylin didn't see Tristan's confusion, but she sensed it.

"At the fire. I said I would have found a more painful death for Lucius if I could. I lied. I didn't just stab him quickly through the heart and be done with it. I saved that for last.

"I didn't escape either. I was thrown into a river to die by the order of Lucius' wife. I was found by a Roman general of all people and taken in by him to heal. Once my injuries were better, I sneaked away and broke into the Canimas estateduring the night.

"I tortured him. I tied him to his bed while he slept off an evening of drink, secured his mouth so he couldn't cry out, and tortured him. I don't know how long I was there for: an hour, maybe two. I took my time. After I finished with him, I went to his wife's chambers. I didn't want to risk being caught, so I cover her mouth with my hand to ensure that when she woke, no one would hear, and slit her throat with the blade I'd used to kill her husband. They had tried to break my soul. Instead, they destroyed whatever conscience I had, ironically allowing me to kill them as I did."

Aylin looked over to Tristan and was gladdened to see that he didn't seem repulsed by her story. Of course, she wouldn't have told him if she'd thought he'd react otherwise.

"Unfortunately, I _was_ caught trying to leave the estate in bloodstained clothes and arrested. I was to be executed for my crimes, but Gattus, the general who had helped me, intervened and convinced the Emperor that my skills and warrior heritage could be put to use. Before I knew it I was in Greece at Gattus' home training under his guidance. Now, here I am," she finished, looking the scout in the eye.

Tristan stared right back at her. This beautiful woman next to him had intrigued him before, but now that he'd heard from Aylin's own lips the story of her past, he couldn't describe the clenching in his chest.

"Why did you tell _me_ this?" He asked gruffly.

Aylin put her hand down to shift her body toward Tristan to answer him. When her left hand accidentally brushed his, an unexpected shock went up both their arms. Quickly pulling her hand back, Aylin looked back in the direction of the camp.

"Because you understand," she answered, returning her gaze to him.

Tristan gave a small smile and nodded before standing and disappearing into the woods.

Once she was sure the scout was gone, Aylin leaned back onto the rock and brought her left hand up to her eyes for inspection.

"That was different," she whispered.

Further in the woods, Tristan awaited his hawk. When the bird alighted on his arm, Tristan leaned back against a tree and released a pent up breath, remembering the spark that had shot up his arm at her touch.

"Bloody woman," he muttered.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Later into the night, after Lancelot had relieved her of the watch – and apologized for his earlier comment – Aylin returned to the camp, but did not settle down for sleep.

Instead, she went to Artay and, after making sure the knights were asleep - she could have sworn Horton was sucking his thumb like an infant - retrieved a bag tied to the saddle set upon a stump, tucked under the blanket. With one last check on the sleeping men, she silently left the clearing and headed for the stream nestled deeper in the woods.

Stepping into the shallow stream, Aylin reached down a hand and brought up the cold water to splash on her feverish face. She did so several more times before she noticed the uncontrollable shaking of her hand.

Light from the moon overhead reflected across the water, letting Aylin see her own image looking back at her. Cool water mixed with perspiration, and even in this light, Aylin could see her enlarged pupils.

Quickly she brought the bag into the light, almost dropping it into the stream in her haste.

"Damn it," she whispered, trying to calm herself.

With a forced slowness, Aylin untied the thong that closed the leather. She sighed as the material fell open in her palm to reveal a pile of white powder and a small and crudely fastened wooden spoon.

Just as she was about to grasp the utensil, an inhumane cry echoed through the air, startling her to where she almost dropped the bag again. When the echoes died out, she reached for the spoon, but quickly pulled her hand back when the cry reverberated again. Only this time she recognized it.

A hawk. Tristan's hawk.

"Shit. I forgot he was out here," she thought furiously.

Searching for any sign of the scout, Aylin slowly backed out of the stream and turned into the woods again. After walking several yards, she leaned against a large tree, peering around the edge in case anyone had followed. When she saw no one, Aylin turned her head back, scooped the spoon into the powder and quickly put it on her tongue.

The bitterness made her eyes water and the texture of the powder itself made her cough when she swallowed it. Aylin brought her arm up and muffled the coughing with her upper arm, while wiping her eye with her lower. Within minutes, the shaking of her hands stopped, for a while at least. Tying the thong back around the leather bag, Aylin calmly walked back to the camp to lie down for a few hours of sleep ruined by nightmares.

A few trees away, Tristan stepped out into view, hawk on his arm, and watched her walk away.

**Next Chapter: Ambushes**

**AN: The Sea of Azov is located off the northern coast of the Black Sea. I don't know if that was necessarily what it was known as back in the day, but that's what I'm calling it.**


	8. Ambushes

**ALMOST HAD IT ALL**

**_AN: I would just like to say how shocked I was to hear of the explosions in London on the 7th and to tell those of you who reside in the area, have lost loved ones or know someone who's been injured that you are all in my prayers. As an American, I can understand the fear, anger, and sadness that come along with such an attack and would tell you that there are people all over the world who are suffering with you, praying for you, and offering their full support._**

**Chapter Six – Ambushes**

_Somewhere tonight  
inside of me  
a smile so distant… memory  
covering up my face  
so you can never see  
the darkest part of me_

_Shutting my eyes  
I'm dying inside…  
I've lost myself  
a thousand times  
but I can remain  
in spite of the pain  
I'll cross this line  
just one last time_

_They are part of me  
these words that never heal  
they still remind me  
that all of this is real  
hiding from the world  
lost in my disease  
so you can never see  
the darkest part of me_

_Shutting my eyes  
I'm dying inside  
I've lost myself  
a thousand times  
but I can remain  
in spite of the pain  
I'll cross this line  
just one last time_

_I can feel it…  
I can feel it…_

…_Just for a second I want you to see  
I hide myself from you  
I hide myself from you_

_I feel so infected from these memories  
I hide myself from you  
I hide myself from you  
from you…  
from you… _

Shutting my eyes  
I'm dying inside  
I've lost myself  
a thousand times  
but I can remain  
in spite of the pain  
I'll cross this line  
just one last time

_Just one last time  
I'll cross this line  
Just one last time  
Just one last time  
I'll cross this line  
Just one last…  
Just one last time_

"_Crossing the Line" TRUST Company_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_North of Hadrian's Wall…_

Aylin lie on her bedroll and stared up at the tree branches overhead. It had been five hours since she had returned to the camp and she had yet to sleep. Despite the nightmares Aylin knew she would face if she were to sleep, she desperately wished to have a few minutes of complete rest. She had already made another trip back to the creek to splash her hot face and, hopefully, rid herself of the dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. It was times like this that made her realize that it had been many years since she'd had a good night's rest. Eighteen years to be exact.

"It's your own fault," she thought to herself, thinking back those five hours to her first trip to the stream.

In all the years she had taken the powder, Aylin never slept afterward.

"At least it stopped the shaking… for a little while anyway," She mused as she clenched her wavering hands tightly.

She hadn't wanted to risk using the powder again since she had almost been discovered before. It wasn't like she had a large supply with her anyway, as most of it was still in her room at the fort. But she couldn't risk being caught by Arthur or the others. It was not something she wished to discuss with anyone. She hadn't even spoken of it to Cornelius, though she doubted he was completely ignorant of her actions.

"But you are cutting back… that's all that matters," she whispered.

The moment the words left her mouth, she rolled her eyes. It wouldn't be the first time she had 'cut back'. Throughout the past few years, Aylin had made attempts to decrease her usage of the drug until she was eventually free of the burden. Several times Aylin had believed she'd succeeded. But an aggressive bout of pain, shaking, and coughing would always lead her back. As a woman who relied on her ability to get things done quickly and efficiently, Aylin was pissed that this one thing kept her failing miserably.

With the sun just starting to lighten the early morning sky and noticing that some of the men were beginning to wake, Aylin wondered if they would mention anything about her behavior the night before.

She was jerked out of her thoughts by a sudden pain in her abdomen spreading like fire; her breathing became shallow, causing a harsh cough to wrack her body.

Gawain, who lay only a few feet from Aylin, was awakened by loud hacking sounds. He sat up and reoriented himself with his surroundings before he realized that the hacking sound was coming from Aylin, who was now hunched over, favoring her left side. Quickly grabbing his water skin from his pack, Gawain rushed over to her, pulling her into a kneeling position to look at her face.

Aylin looked up at him with almost frantic eyes. Blood flowed from the corner of her mouth, shocking both she and Gawain, who lowered his gaze to the ground and the red splatters now seeping into the coldness of the snowy dirt.

He leaned her head back and placed the water skin to her lips, his eyes showing her the worry that he couldn't voice.

Once she had drunk her fill, she leaned away from the skin, wiping the blood from her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt.

"Are you all right?" Gawain asked concernedly.

"I'm fine!" she snapped with irritation, though it lost something in her voice, strained and rough from the coughing. Though Aylin wished she wouldn't lose her temper, it was a natural defense when a weakness was shown. "How many times must I say it? I…am…fine!"

Gawain shook off her anger for he knew that if she was coughing up blood, everything wasn't 'fine'.

"Kavan, what have they done to your sister?" He thought.

Aylin leaned forward again, taking easy breaths, trying to slow her racing heart. After a few minutes, when her breathing was back to normal, she sighed and looked up at Gawain who was still crouched in front of her.

"I did not mean to snap at you…" she began looking down again, mumbling something about being bad at making apologies. "I…I am sorry."

He placed his hand on her hair, smoothing it back, then under her chin to bring her face up again.

"Apology accepted, but I'm still going to ask you again. Are you all right?" He asked quietly, but his eyes were piercing, daring her to say 'fine' once more.

Aylin would have enjoyed the challenge of a dare, but realized now wasn't the time. After a moment, remembering what she'd told Dagonet, she said,

"I must have taken ill during the rain storms on our way here. The coughing…will get better once we return to the wall, I'm sure…"

It was just another lie.

"But not a whole lie!" She told herself, because for some reason, she didn't want to lie to Gawain, or any of the men for that matter. They were her countrymen after all… and the closest – only actually - tie to her brother that she had.

True…they had encountered some less than favorable weather because of the bishop's whims, but her problems had started long before then.

"He doesn't know that though… But ifthis keeps up, I don't know how long that will last," she mused silently.

He knew she was lying. If he hadn't been watching her eyes, he would have missed the emotions skating across the icy blue that betrayed her words. Pain. Fear. Sadness. And resignation. That scared him the most.

Gawain didn't say anything though, just stood and held out a hand to her. He decided he wasn't in a prying mood and didn't see a point in it; the labor would bear no fruit. He knew enough about her now to see that she wouldn't involuntarily give up information.

Aylin took the offered hand and, with his help, came to her feet.

"Thanks…" she said quietly, bending to gather her bedroll and pack.

With a subtle nod to Gawain, Aylin turned to where Artay was tethered to a small tree, then walked around to whisper to her steed. She knew that the others must have heard her coughing and probably had seen the blood, but she hoped that they kept their questions to themselves, because she really didn't feel like explaining herself.

Arthur, on the other hand, wasn't so ready to let what he saw go by without explanation.

"Aylin…what was that? What is going on?" He demanded, unfortunately loud enough to draw the attention of those who weren't already watching to them.

Without looking away from her horse, Aylin answered, "Nothing."

"People don't cough up blood for no reason, Aylin! You've been acting strangely since we left the fort.

"It's nothing you need to know, _Commander_."

She didn't like it, but the interrogation Aylin knew was coming set her on edge. Hell, Gattus hadn't called her _Iniga _for no reason.

"Well, as _Commander, _I order you to answer my question!"

Aylin spun around, Artay jerking in reaction, the ice shielding her eyes quickly melted in the heat of a bright blue flame.

"Not my commander! I don't believe I'm required to tell you anything I choose not to!"

Arthur glared a moment. Galahad stepped forward from the knights, who watched in confusion, not sure if they should interfere to protect Arthur from Aylin, or the other way around. The young knight cleared his throat to gain the pair's attention.

"Stay out of it Galahad!" They both shouted.

The man sighed and looked back to the others who only shrugged in response.

"I may not be your commanding officer, but I would like you to tell me what just happened… as a friend," he said in a softer tone.

But the fire hadn't left Aylin's gaze. So angry was she, her entire body shook with controlled violence.

"Let's get something straight, Arthur. You were Kavan's commander and friend. I am not he. I've only known you for three days; don't misconstrue respect between acquaintances as friendship. My business is just that…my own. Not anyone else's and I don't care to have my actions questioned by a _Roman_."

Arthur's eyes widened momentarily, but Aylin couldn't take the words back and so walked to the other side of Artay, where his tack was located. Ignoring the men around her, Aylin silently went about saddling her horse – and replacing the bag from her belt back in its hidden spot.

The knights, Horton and Jols resumed what they'd been doing, every once in a while glancing back at Arthur or Aylin. Tristan watched the longest before mounting and riding into the woods, scouting their path.

Arthur remained where he stood in shock. Lancelot came up beside him as Arthur mumbled, "Well…that was different."

"A prime example of why men try their damnedest to stay away from women during certain times of the month," Lancelot quipped.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Once prepared, the other knights joined Tristan in the woods. Tensions were high, but no one mentioned Aylin's scene earlier in the clearing and for that, she was grateful.

They continued on a speedy pace through the woods for until late in the afternoon, stopping only to rest the horses and eat a midday meal, where Bors immediately went to relieve himself, joking and laughing with the others about 'a baby's arm holding an apple'. After a quick bite to eat, they rode again, every one of them eager to get the mission over with.

With the sun sinking lower in the sky, the already scarce light in the woods became dimmer and dimmer.

Tristan rode up next to Arthur, who happened to be in front of Aylin.

"We are being followed. Woads."

"Where?" The commander asked.

"Everywhere."

It seemed as though that word was the starting cue.

Arrows flew out of the trees; ropes connected to them blocked off the trail. Turning the horses around, the group raced in the opposite direction as more arrows were fired from the bows of the Woads.

It didn't take long for the knights to realize that they were surrounded. Grouped together, they slid off their horses, drawing weapons of choice and prepared for a fight.

Aylin was so focused on the blue warriors, that she didn't notice the bag that fell from her saddle to the ground, disguised by dead leaves.

But someone did.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Later that night, on the edge of the woods, the knights had made camp for the final time before they were to reach the Roman estate. Horton was a little miffed to have to spend another night outdoors, but one look from Aylin had him eating any complaints he might voice.

Safe to say, they were all dumbfounded by the day's earlier events. Why had Woads retreated? What was Merlin planning?

Tristan sat quietly, as usual, and watched Aylin fromunderneath his hair, biding his time.

While the others were discussing the sudden ambush and retreat, Aylin was sitting, knees pulled to chest, forehead resting on them. The pain was wrenching, the shaking worse; one minute she would be freezing, the next would be unbearable heat and sweating.

Finally, she couldn't take it any more. She didn't care who saw, as long as she got what she wanted. Needed.

Jumping from her seated position, Aylin went to the saddle on the ground near Artay… and almost screamed in panic when she didn't find her bag tied there.

Tristan watched her search the ground around the tack, pull off the saddle packs and empty them on the dirt.

Lancelot looked amused. "Aylin…what are you doing?"

"Where is it? Where is it?" she muttered quickly under her breath.

"Where the hell is it?" She shouted, dragging at her hair with trembling hands.

All amusement fled the air as the men glanced worriedly at each other before slowly rising to their feet.

"What's wrong Aylin?" Dagonet asked.

"I couldn't have lost it," she was saying to herself, paying no heed to the men moving toward her.

Tristan stood and stepped forward. "Are you looking for this?"

Aylin looked up at his face, then down at his hand.

There it was.

The bag was sitting there in his outstretched palm.

She didn't hesitate to reach for it, but he was faster, retracting his hand and taking what she wanted away from her.

The fire that the men werequickly becoming so used to lit in her eyes as she tried to grab the bag again. The scout merely pulled it out of reach again.

"Give it back!" She threatened lowly.

Horton stayed at his seat by the fire, frightened that a brawl might break out.

When Tristan didn't move to hand it to her, Aylin unsheathed her sword and leveled it at his throat.

Every single man tensed; hands went to weapon hilts.

Tristan kept his eyes on Aylin's. He knew what he was holding. His trained eyes had seen it fall from her belt and after the Woads had retreated, had picked it up and opened it.

Yeah, he knew what it was. He remembered a soldier that had been stationed at the Wall several years ago had used _Morpheus_ often. Tristan had come across the man in an alley near the tavern. He'd been dead for a few hours from taking too much of the drug at one time. Tristan recognized the symptoms in Aylin's actions: shaking, large pupils, fever, and agitation.

"I want to help you," he said slowly.

"Help me," she muttered, "Help me? How do you possibly think you could help me?"

"I know how to make the pain stop," he said simply.

Aylin stared at him. He seemed to be telling the truth. She lowered the sword from his neck.

The knights let out a breath that they hadn't realized they had been holding.

The sigh of relief quickly turned to concern when Aylin's sword fell from a shaking grasp and she dropped to her hands and knees, convulsing.

The scout was on the ground beside her in a heartbeat, shifting her body so Aylin's head lie in the crook of his elbow. He tossed the bag to Arthur, who had kneeled next to them.

"_Morpheus," _was all he said. All he had to say. Arthur had been the one Tristan had come to when he'd found the dead soldier. The commander too hadbeen awareof theman's problem and knew how to handle a situation such as this.

"Bors, get me a water skin. Lancelot, hold her still," Arthur ordered, opening the bag and digging out a small amount of powder with the spoon. Bors returned with the water, as Lancelot kneeled down and held Aylin's legs immobile.

Taking the spoon and the water skin, Arthur had Tristan open Aylin's mouth so he could pour in the water and then added the powder. Tristan closed her mouth and forced her to swallow by rubbing her throat.

Slowly, the shaking ceased and finally the diluted dose to put Aylin to sleep. Tristan laid her on a bedroll and took a seat in front of a rock near the fire. Luckily for her, that amount of powder taken with a large amount of water, would cancel out the withdrawal symptoms, including her inability to sleep.

Galahad sat with a plop, unsure of what had just transpired. "What the hell just happened?"

Dagonet and Gawain sat on either side of Aylin and watched her with careful eyes.

Arthur moved from his knees to sit as well and answered Galahad's question.

"_Morpheus_ withdrawal. It's a drug popular in certain parts of Roman society - the wealthy part. I guess Aylin got a hold of some during her stay there. Her body was reacting badly to not having the enough of the drug in its system."

"That would explain the change in attitude," Lancelot muttered.

"We should get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow," Arthur advised, though he did glance at Aylin with concern.

The others tried to make themselves comfortable, while thoughts ran through their minds of what had just taken place. Dagonet and Gawain stayed up, watching over the camp and their sleeping charge.

Tristan watched from his spot leaning against a rock, refusing to let the worry and fear he felt swarming through him show on his face.

**Next Chapter: The Estate**


	9. The Estate

**ALMOST HAD IT ALL**

**Chapter Seven: The Estate**

**AN: Random Fact – I was doing some more research on the Sarmatian people, and I came across this little bit of info: when their daughters were infants, the women of Sarmatia would apply a hot iron to the baby's right breast, stunting its growth, thereby giving the right shoulder and arm the muscle that would have formed there. The women of Sarmatia were trained fighters, so the extra arm strength came in handy!**

**All I have to say is: OUCH! That would suck! The Sarmatian women must have looked a little odd walking around with only one breast! No wonder Bors wasn't very complimentary of the women back home!**

**Anyway, I found that interesting and thought I would share it with y'all! **

**Also, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. Everything is fixed now (knocks on wood). Thanks for reviewing!**

_Left here alone  
And unsure of what I feel  
Unclear but I see  
Just what I'm afraid of_

_I can't find my way anymore  
And I  
Cannot heal the wounds I've created  
And I can't let go  
Of what's killing me_

_Falling from this edge  
__I am lost to all I know, hey  
_

_I can't breathe anymore  
__Somehow I'm locked inside this cage  
__And I try  
__But I cannot fight to stay alive_

_Falling from this edge  
__I am lost to all I know  
__Time is only the answer see and  
__Lies the only  
__Reverie_

_I've tried  
__But I can't fight anymore  
__I'm falling from this edge _

_I am lost to all I know  
__Time is only the answer see and  
__Lies the only  
__Reverie_

_"Reverie" Megan McCauley_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_North of Hadrian's Wall…_

Bloody hell, is it cold.

That was the first thought that came to Aylin as she woke from her forced sleep.

Though she didn't open her eyes, she could tell that it would be another rainy day, just from feeling the air. Moving her pounding head to the side, she realized that it wasn't lying on the cold, snow ground, but on something warmer. And softer. Aylin cautiously opened one eye, then the other, confusion marring her face at the pair of legs and heavy booted feet that came out from under her head. Slowly turning her face around, her gaze landed on Tristan, who was methodically cleaning his nails with his dagger and watching her.

He pointed to his cloak wrapped about her and said quietly, "You were shivering in your sleep."

Aylin carefully removed her head from his lap and sat up, digging the heel of her palms into her eyes, trying to clear them. Aside from the throbbing of her skull, Aylin noticed that she didn't feel as anxious as she usually did.

Then it suddenly came back to her. She remembered searching through her pack; Tristan holding her powder, then refusing to return it; holding the sword to his throat—oh hell; collapsing, then seeing Arthur and the scout hovering over her--speaking, but she couldn't remember their distorted words.

Grimacing, Aylin placed her head in her hands. She stood up and remained still for a moment to rid her body of the vertigo that flooded her senses.

Tristan stood as well, gathering his things and walking to his dappled-gray, said, "I'm going to scout the path ahead. Will you be all right?"

She nodded and watched as he mounted and rode off.

Aylin looked around the camp. Gawain, Galahad, Lancelot and Dagonet still slept, since their watches had been the latest. Horton was curled into a tight ball, drooling on his hand. Bors was off somewhere. Arthur sat with his back to her on a rather large boulder at the tree line, cleaning his sword. When she thought of the things she said earlier to the man, she was shocked to feel guilt and regret.

"I seem to spend a lot of time feeling regret for my actions when I am around these men. I hope it doesn't become a habit!" She thought, slowly trudging through the snow toward the commander.

Arthur ceased his cleaning when she sat, but said nothing.

"The things I've said…were wrong. But they've been said and all I can do is offer my…apologies," she said after a sigh.

Arthur shifted to look at her with sympathetic eyes, which, under normal circumstances, would have sparked Aylin's temper, but she found that this didn't upset her.

"Aylin…I know that you have only known us for a short number of days and I understand that you haven't had many people to trust in your life, but I ask that you trust us. You have a problem that we can help you with. Just let us."

They both looked up sharply as Bors rode up with the fresh game he'd hunted for breakfast. The large knight dismounted, nodded to them and made his way to the fire pit of smoldering embers to cook the food, waking the others with his loud grunting and mumbling as he went.

Aylin looked to the ground, her hands clenched at her sides on the rock. "I do…"

Arthur returned his gaze to her profile and she turned her face to him.

"I do… Trust you."

Arthur smiled and clasped Aylin on the shoulder, then hopped off the rock and walked to the fire now burning in the pit.

Aylin watched from her perch as the men did this and that to prepare for their departure. With a sigh, she swiveled around to face the woods and slid off the boulder, sat on the ground on the opposite side of the camp, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She took slow, even breaths so the cough wouldn't attack her body.

She thought back to when she'd awakened and the look in Tristan's eyes.

With a sigh, Aylin set her head up against the rock. "What have I gotten myself into?" she mused silently.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Later in the morning, the ten riders came upon a villa-styled estate strangely out of place in the snowy valleys of Britain. Galloping up to the wall, Arthur hailed the men stationed above the gate, ordering them to open it. It didn't take long, once the men were assured of the knights' identities, for soon the gates opened and a short, dark-haired man wrapped in a Roman toga walked out, escorted by guards.

Aylin stiffened immediately when she recognized the fat Roman. She nonchalantly pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, hiding her face from prying eyes.

"It is a wonder you have come! Good Jesus! Arthur and his knights! You have fought the Woads? Vile creatures," Marius stated.

While Arthur explained their business, Aylin sat astride Artay toward the back of the group, glad that the pompous Italian couldn't see her. She searched the crowd of serfs and even the Honorius family, and worried when she didn't find whom she was looking for.

The next thing Aylin knew, Marius was retreating to his home, his wife, Fulcinia, and son, Alecto, the reason for such a perilous journey, in tow. She looked over to Arthur, who had dismounted his horse, sword in hand, and was now making his way to an elderly man strung up by rope in the serf village outside the wall.

Lancelot came up beside Aylin, listening to Arthur's conversation with one of the serfs.

"You don't seem surprised by this treatment," he said.

Without looking at him, Aylin pointed out, "Did you so quickly forget that I lived in Rome? It is difficult to be surprised by something one sees so often. I _am_ surprised at how shocked Arthur is at this."

"Arthur isn't the man you think he is. He does not wish to be tied to the evils of the Romans."

"But he is still a Roman. That will never change."

With that said, she turned away from the display as Arthur freed the man from his bondage and surveyed the rest of the estate. Her gaze was inevitably drawn to a block structure latched to the wall. A myriad of emotions welled up inside her, but were pushed down, albeit not effortlessly.

Gawain rode over, looked at her face, then at the building.

"What is it?"

Aylin didn't answer, just stared ahead.

Gawain furrowed his brows.

"Aylin?"

Before Gawain could even form another question, Arthur too had noticed the building—and the men working quickly to seal it up—and was striding toward it purposefully.

"Move. Move!" He commanded the mercenaries ordering serfs to wall up the entrance.

After a brief study of the wall, Arthur asked Dagonet to break it down.

With a few heavy swings of his battle-ax, Dagonet soon had broken a hole large enough to see the door. Aylin was among the few knights that joined the commander down into the dark opening. Gawain gave her a confused look before taking hold of the torch handed him by Lancelot and walked inside.

_The men continued joking and gambling, their voices rising over the screams and moans of those in pain. _

_Aylin sat in the corner, her hands chained above her head, causing her shoulders to jut out at unnatural angles. In all of her five years, she had never felt such pain. This wasfar worse than when she'd fallen in a race with Kavan and had skinned her knee. Her entire body ached: her wrists, chaffed from the shackles; her arms, tingling with cold and numbness from loss of circulation; her head, a side effect from the powder forced upon her; her thighs, bruised and swollen from men continually pounding themselves into her—not to mention the fact she felt like she'd been ripped in two._

"_You there, girl! Perk up now! Machus, give her some more _Morpheus_. Not enough to completely subdue her. I heard this round of bidders prefers 'em feisty!" The man laughed hoarsely, and then went back to his gambling._

_Aylin felt the powder being shoved down her throat, the shackles being removed, then was hauled to her feet and dragged out of the room onto the platform to be presented by the slave auctioneer._

Aylin shook herself out of memory as the chanted _Latin_ of a monk reached her ears. When she walked past the protesting man, he tried looking up into her face under her hood before she shoved him into the wall behind him.

She felt no remorse for the man when Lancelot's sword sliced through his belly. From the looks of this chamber, he and all his comrades deserved worse.

Aylin and Dagonet searched the small round cells, while Arthur and Lancelot looked in the larger ones.

She pulled up the grate to a hole and stared at the boy that looked back at her fearfully. Aylin whispered reassuring words to him as she pulled his unhealthilythin body from the pit.

Arthur had rescued a young woman from her filthy cell and carried her out of the building. Aylin nodded to Dagonet, who also held a small boy in his arms, and followed the commander out, slowly setting the child on the ground outside.

Gently brushing hair from his face, Aylin looked into the boy's bright blue eyes. Her breath catching in her throat, she just stared at the boy's face. Disbelief flashed across her features and she involuntarily back away slightly. Gawain knelt next to the pair and gave the boy some water from the skin, glancing curiously at Aylin while doing so.

After a moment of trying to regain her composure, Aylin looked at the boy again and asked his name.

"Dominic," he said hoarsely after a few tries. The boy's small voice gained the attention of the others, who wondered what he might have to say.

Aylin swallowed. "Dominic, which one of them did this to you?" She asked, indicating his many and various sized bruises.

Dominic nervously looked about him, and then slowly pointed out one of the monks huddled with the others behind them.

Nodding, Aylin stood up. Gawain, his curiosity definitely peaked, stood as well. Aylin backed up, getting closer to the monks. Then suddenly, she pivoted around, unsheathing her dagger, and sliced the monk Dominic had pointed out from ear to ear. The man's fellow monks looked at Aylin, horrified, as they quickly inched away from her.

She turned around to be met with shocked and confused stares from all but Tristan, who nodded approvingly.

"We need to get the family ready for escort quickly, before we find ourselves surrounded," she stated simply, re-sheathing her dagger.

"What are you doing!" Shouted Marius Honorius at Aylin, running at her with wild eyes. "You cannot murder a man of God!"

Aylin shoved the man back when he reached to push her, pulled her hood back and retorted,

"Are you going to stop me, Marius?"

The Roman took a shocked step back, and kept going as Aylin took slow steps toward him. "You? I would have thought the church would have had you killed already?"

"Oh, I'm sure they'll get around to it eventually, but I'm going to rid this earth of your flesh before they do," she replied tauntingly, advancing on him until he backed into Arthur.

Maruis, feeling the need to shift attention from him, yelled at his wife and backhanded her. The ploy didn't work though, because Arthur punched the Roman lord in the face, and pinned him to the ground with Excalibur at his throat.

Aylincrouched down beside him and whispered, "Better watch who you talk to like that Maruis, otherwise you might get hurt."

With a sharp smack on his cheek, Aylin stood and watched while Arthur ordered the mercenaries to escort Honorius back to his carriage. She noticed that Dagonet was taking the boys to a wagon set up for the sick and wounded.

Looking down to Fulcinia, who was still kneeling beside the young woman, Aylin said in a hard voice,

"You told me you would keep him safe. That he would never be hurt like he would if he were with me. And where do I find him? In a dark prison covered with marks from 'holy men'!"

The roman woman looked down with ashamed eyes.

"I did the best I could," she said in a quiet whisper, "I am sorry."

Aylin's eyes softened, but she contained her emotions.

"Tell _him_ you're sorry, make it up to _him_, not me."

Aylin placed her hand on Fulcinia's shoulder and said lowly,

"I know you did your best. Thank you."

Fulcinia watched as Aylin walked away from her, squeezing the hand of the young woad beside her.

**Next Chapter: Confrontations on the Ice**

**FYI: I don't know how many of you have seen the previews for the new HBO series _Rome_, starring Ray Stevenson—aka Dagonet—but I just want to tell you that if you're interested, it's premiering on Sunday, August 28th. You'll have to check your TV guide for the time. I watched the "making of" and it looks like it will be an awesome series!**


	10. Confrontations on the Ice

**ALMOST HAD IT ALL**

**Hey guys! This update is actually sooner than you might think. I updated a week ago, adding the chapter _The Estate_, but it never showed up as being updated. So if you haven't read that chapter yet, please do so before you read this one.**

**Chapter Eight – Confrontation on the Ice**

_In this time are we loving  
or do we sit here wondering  
why this world isn't turning around  
It's now or never _

We have no use  
for the truth  
and now's the time for us to lose  
who we are and how we've tried  
taking every step in stride  
it now or never to decide

_In this time are we loving  
or do we sit here wondering  
why this world isn't turning around  
It's now or never_

_In this way are we learning  
or do we sit here yearning  
for this world to stop turning around  
it's now or never_

_Where's the truth  
for us to use  
cause all we seem to do is lose  
who we are and how we've tried  
are we all the same inside  
it's now or never to decide_

_In this time are we loving  
or do we sit here wondering  
why this world isn't turning around  
It's now or never_

_In this way are we learning  
or do we sit here yearning  
for this world to stop turning around  
It's now or never_

_In this time are we loving  
or do we sit here wondering  
why this world isn't turning around  
It's now or never_

_In this way are we learning  
or do we sit here yearning  
for this world to stop turning around  
It's now or never_

_In this time are we loving  
Wondering  
isn't turning around  
It's now or never_

"_Now or Never" Three Days Grace_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_North of Hadrian's Wall…_

Arthur watched her walk away in disbelief.

Aylin tried to shrug off the fear she'd seen in Dominic, who had watched her with wide eyes.

She had seen the look in many an adversaries' face, but never in a child. Aylin had never made it a habit to go around scaring children. Those that she had been around previously--which, mind you, was not an astounding number--had watched her with awe if they had known who she was, or with curiosity if they hadn't.

After a moment, Arthur sighed and gave an order for the remaining monks to be walled up in the prison they had made for others.

Apparently, he felt as enraged about their findings as Aylin. The knights moved toward the village while the serfs who had been watching either fanned out to gather what little belongings they had, or herded the cowering monks into the stone building. Arthur moved to stand in front of Aylin, mere inches between them and said in a low voice,

"We will discuss this later."

The tone left no room for argument, so Aylin merely nodded. Arthur sidestepped her to walk closer to the serf village to oversee the evacuation.

Turning around, Aylin went to Artay. But before she could reach the stallion, Tristan grabbed her arm, pulling her up short. She quickly spun around and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip, subjecting him to the blue flame of her eyes.

It didn't faze him in the slightest. His gray eyes were hard and unyielding.

"Let go of my arm," Aylin growled through clenched teeth.

Instead of answering her, Tristan pulled her along after him to the side of the prison hidden from the eyes of others. Once he had reached where the prison and the compound wall met, he shoved Aylin into the corner, placing one hand on the prison wall and the other on the compound wall, effectively blocking her escape.

"What was that about?" He asked in a tone that said he would hear nothing but the truth.

Since she didn't want to explain her actions, Aylin remained quiet, though silently cursing him in her head.

Tristan scoffed at her silence. "I don't care that you killed him, Aylin. But I do want to know why."

"It is not your concern," Aylin replied, seething.

"Damn it woman! Tell me the truth!" Tristan growled, pounding his fists into the walls. "Just tell me," he finished in a softer voice, hoping the others hadn't heard him.

"Maybe you didn't hear me the first time. I said, 'It is not your concern!' There, I pronounced each word clearly so you better damn well listen! It's my problem, so you can keep out of it."

"Who is the boy, Aylin? I can see in your eyes that you know him," he asked softly.

She looked into his face and saw his determination. With a sigh, she did something she hadn't done in a long time. She told him her secret.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The traveling was painfully slow at best.

Aylin didn't feel like counting the number of wagons bearing the things of Marius and his family, who at the moment were bundled cozily in their covered carriage.

"While the rest of us walk and ride through the freezing rain and snow and winds," she thought.

Even the sick and injured had no reprieve from the elements. Dominic, Guinevere and Lucan—who had identified themselves earlier--were in an open wagon with only the sheerest of cloths covering the sides. Though, she was more concerned about the children than she was the woman—the woad.

Aylin couldn't bring herself to trust the Briton; she'd seen the conspiratorial glances she sent both Arthur and Lancelot.

But the waste disgusted her. Here were the sick, lying on a rough wagon floor with only minimal coverage, while the greedy Romans stockpiled the furs and blankets. So she rode among the groups of serfs that walked ahead of the wagons. That way, if she didn't see the object of her hatred, she could put them from her mind.

As the caravan trudged on, Aylin watched a pair of small children walk ahead of her.

Siblings, she assumed, a girl about nine years of age and a boy several years younger. The sister valiantly tried to keep walking, her little brother's hand tightly clasped in her own, but her exhaustion was evident. Even as Aylin thought it, the young girl sank to the ground, almost hidden in the snow with her brother sobbing and pulling at her to get up. No one around them seemed to notice the two, so when Aylin rode up even with them, she dismounted and kneeled next to them.

"She'll be alright," she whispered softly to the boy, picking the girl up and settling her on the saddle.

Reaching back down, she did the same for the boy, setting him behind his sister, who had slumped forward to lean on Artay's neck. The boy soon leaned forward as well, resting his small head on his sister's back.

Aylin smiled at the pair while removing her heavy cloak, which, though wet on the outside, was quite warm inside, and draping it about the brother and sister. Taking Artay's reins, she led the stallion on.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

From her position on the rock, Aylin could see the Woad Guinevere speaking with Lancelot. Rolling her eyes at the dark knight's flirtations, Aylin continued to watch as Guinevere moved through the camp and caught Arthur's attentions, the commander following her deeper into the woods.

"What are you up to, Woad? What's your plan?" She muttered under her breath.

She stayed where she was for a while longer, her seat offering her a view of the wagon. She hadn't spoken to Fulcinia since they'd left the Estate, but Aylin knew that she needed to. She'd tried her best to avoid meeting Dominic's gaze, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She needed to ask the woman how much he knew.

Several minutes had passed when Tristan stepped up to the rock.

They looked at each other for a number of seconds. Then he spoke quietly,

"Arthur wishes to speak with you."

Nodding, she stood and together, they walked to the clearing where the knights sat around a fire. Arthur gestured to a place near him.

"Have a seat, Aylin. It's time I got some answers."

Silently, Aylin sat with her back against a tree, facing Arthur.

Several moments passed. Arthur gave an irritated sigh.

"Well?"

" 'Well' what?"

"Aylin." Arthur ground out.

"I don't know how you expect me to give you answers when you've yet to ask the questions," she replied. She wasn't going to make it easy.

"Word games. Fine. Why did you nearly decapitate that monk this morning?"

With a quick glance at Tristan, she answered steadily, "He deserved it."

Arthur stared. "He just 'deserved it'? That's it?"

"It takes a person lacking a heart to torture a living thing. It takes a person lacking a _soul_ to torture a child. But the Romans seem to have found their niche. I've seen too much of it in my life, so I decided to deal with it in my own way."

With another sigh, Arthur said, "While I can't lecture you on killing him, since I essentially did the same to the others, I _will _say that you should not place the Roman people under the shadow of the actions of few. Since you lived in Rome, you know as well as I that there are those who believe in all being-"

"Equal."

"Precisely."

"Well, let me tell you Arthur, you are a great soldier and one of the best leaders I've seen, and trust me, I've seen quite a few, but you are one of the most naïve men I have ever met."

She continued when he narrowed his eyes, "I _don't_ know as well as you because 'I've lived in Rome', I know _better_. When were you last in Rome, Arthur? 15 years, maybe? A lot can change in that amount of time. Yes, there are those who wish for equality, but it is a wish not voiced. No one dares to speak of such "blasphemy" as your church puts it.

"In the eyes of Rome, some are born to be masters, and others are born to be slaves. Isn't that how this whole 'Sarmatian Knight' thing started! Your country slaughtered our people," Aylin stated, standing and swiping her hand in the direction of the other knights, "and they thought that because of that, we were no better than slaves! That is still how we are looked upon!"

"It is not an unspoken wish! I know, because Pelagius, a dear friend, is there teaching the idea of equality now!"

Aylin let out a bitter laugh, which was a touch hoarse from her raw throat.

"Oh, come on Arthur! This is what I mean by naïve! Pelagius has been _dead_ for a year! They had him murdered because he was so outspoken."

When she realized what she had said, Aylin closed her eyes and rubbed her face with her hands.

"Arthur…" she began softly.

"Who are _they_? You said they," he asked.

"Germanus, Crassus and other officials."

Arthur stood before them, with a look that clearly showed how lost he felt at this news.

Aylin walked to stand before him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry for the loss of your friend. Pelagius was a good man." She added when Arthur looked at her in question, "If it is any consolation…many agreed with his teachings, but…once he was killed, they lost their hope and courage. You have his same belief structure. You can teach those around you."

With a pat on his shoulder, Aylin continued walking away from the fire to find a tree to sleep against near the perimeter.

Before she could get too far, a pair of blue eyes drew her attention. Standing behind a tree just a few feet from the fire was Dominic, who, every so often, would poke his head out to see what was going on.

"What are you doing there?" Aylin's question turned the attention of the others to the boy.

Looking about at the faces watching him, Dominic hesitantly abandoned his hiding place.

"Boy, you should be asleep," Dagonet called out.

Dominic didn't move, but kept staring at Aylin, which, aggravatingly, was making her nervous.

An even more nerve-wracking action was Dominic stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Aylin's waist, while whispering, "Thank you".

It wasn't often that Aylin found herself speechless and motionless at the same time, but that's what she was at that moment.

Finally clearing her throat to get the boy's attention, Aylin pulled his arms from her waist and placed them back at his sides. After nodding to him, Aylin watched as Dominic hurried back to the wagon.

Already she could hear the snickering and joking of Galahad and Bors, who were leaning over Gawain talking about how "even little Dominic had a crush on Aylin". Meanwhile, the more 'emotionally observant' knights sat in silence, staring at Aylin's back.

After a moment of calm breathing, Aylin walked on without turning, so no one could see the look on her face, and settled herself against a tree near the wagon.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The next morning Aylin thought she'd finally have a chance to act out her vengeance.

Marius had taken hold of Dominic, while one of the mercenaries had Lucan. Both Aylin and Dagonet were standing at ready; capable of killing the two Romans should the situation call for it. Aylin, of course, was ready to gut Marius Honorius the moment he released the boy.

"You would be one to hide behind a child, Marius. Let the boys go and face me yourself," she spat, gripping her sword.

Marius looked around and thought on his odds. All the knights stood, angry and armed, watching him and his accomplice.

Obviously, the mercenary didn't like being on the wrong side, so the man pushed Lucan toward Dagonet and went back to his comrades, leaving Marius with a very pissed off Aylin.

The Roman pulled his dagger closer to Dominic's throat and watched Aylin's eyes boil.

"Let him go," Aylin demanded lowly.

With a smirk, Marius responded, "What's he worth to you, eh? He's nothing but the son of a Sarmatian whore. What ever happened to that girl, Marsile? Surely, you know."

"She grew up strong enough to be able to kill those who made her life a misery," Aylin growled.

The smirk on Marius's face slipped as he remembered the murders of many Roman nobles in the past several years.

Increasing his grasp on the boy's arm, he snarled, "You are nothing but a murderer who had the protection of a general to keep you from your punishment. Drop your weapon or I'll slit his throat."

Aylin hated to do as he said, but the fear in Dominic's blue eyes allowed the sword to drop to the snow.

Marius's grip relaxed as he smiled with victory, the blade came away slightly from Dominic's throat.

"The man was always too arrogant for his own good," Aylin thought as she grabbed her dagger from her vambrace and went to throw it. But an arrow reached him first.

Aylin watched as Marius crumpled on the ground, his lifeblood draining from his chest. She whirled around to see Guinevere between Arthur and Lancelot, holding a bow.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" She yelled at the woman, "That was to be _my _kill and you know it!"

"My revenge is complete for what he did to me," Guinevere replied coolly.

"Oh, I am sorry. Of course, you should have his death right because of the what—two months you spent in that dungeon? You don't seem too affected by it. I spent _seven years _in slavery thanks to Marius and his fellow nobles. Your worst nightmares do not compare to the things that I've suffered. Don't speak to me of revenge," Aylin said dangerously, grabbing the woman around the throat.

"Aylin!" Arthur shouted, gripping the arm that held Guinevere. "Release her."

"Are you already so tangled in her web, Arthur? She is a Woad! In case you've forgotten, they're the enemy! They've killed your knights—my brother!"

There were several voices in the air—Horton wailing over the dead body of Marius, Bors and Galahad telling the mercenaries to drop their weapons, the serfs (unaware of the drama unfolding in the clearing) preparing their things, Arthur telling Aylin to let go of Guinevere—but one voice, though said quietly, shattered through all the others.

"_Mater…_"

Everyone in the clearing stopped and looked at Dominic, who kneeled in the snow, staring at Aylin with eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears.

No one said anything or moved until Dagonet gently nudged Dominic along with Lucan to the wagon.

Turning back to glare at the Woad, Aylin released Guinevere with a flick of her wrist. Walking to where her sword lay, she bent to pick it up, but Gawain grabbed it first and held it out to her. Taking it from him, she said,

"Don't. Don't ask me any questions."

He nodded and she left to saddle Artay, catching Tristan's gaze as she went.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Despite the intensity of the morning in the clearing, the people were optimistic in their escape of the Estate.

Unfortunately, the light attitude was overridden by the worry of the knights. Tristan was constantly riding back and forth, informing them that the Saxons were closing in behind them. They were expecting him back at any time with information on a faster route to the wall.

It didn't take very long. Tristan quickly rode up to Arthur and led his commander and the rest of the caravan to a route over a frozen lake, which, though carrying a high risk of danger, was the fastest way to escape the Saxon drums that were getting louder by the minute.

Halfway across the ice, it became evident to the knights, and even to the others, that unless a distraction was made, everyone would fall victim to the Saxon army.

Arthur turned to his knights with a grim expression. They all knew what he would say. The commander looked to each knight, who gave a comment in response. When his eyes landed on her, Aylin looked the wagon, where Dominic sat watching her.

Bringing her gaze back to Arthur, she nodded.

Sending Fulcinia and Alecto with their ex-serfs to safety, Arthur, Aylin, and Guinevere—the two women as far away from each other as possible--and the other knights formed a line of archers, waiting for the Saxons to appear.

Each knight had just set bundles of arrows in the snow when the army came around the corner and started out on the ice.

Following Arthur's orders, they aimed their arrows at the flanks to make the Saxons cluster, but it wasn't enough to make the ice break.

While the others tossed aside their bows and unsheathed their swords, Dagonet made a decision.

Taking up his heavy axe, the large knight charged the Saxon army alone.

Aylin looked on in horror as frontline Saxons aimed their crossbows. Grabbing her bow and thrusting more arrows into the quiver on her back, Aylin ran out after him, ignoring the shouts coming from behind.

Standing firm in front of Dagonet, who was working steadily on hacking the ice to pieces, Aylin took aim so she could cover him long enough to get the job done.

"What are you doing? Get out of here!" He shouted to Aylin.

Firing arrow after arrow at the Saxons--and dodging plenty--Aylin answered.

"Just shut up and break the ice already! My arms are getting tired!" She ended the order with a grunt.

_Tired_ must have been the magic word, because at that moment, Dagonet's axe bit all the way through to water.

Aylin glanced down at the cracks slashing out ahead of her, causing most of the army to fall into the icy depths of the lake.

Blinking, Aylin tried to clear her hazy vision. Once it was slightly clearer, she looked down at the bolt that was lodged into her lower left side, the blood pouring from the wound staining the snow at her feet.

No one could reach her before she fell back, sinking into the gaping hole in the ice, punctured by Dagonet's axe, the water's icy fingers slowly pulling her downward.

_Mater_—(Latin) Mother

**Next Chapter: Rescued from the Waters**

**Don't forget (if you're interested) that the new HBO series _Rome_ premieres tonight 9pm/8 Central. It looks really awesome!**

**Oh… and review!**


	11. Rescued from the Waters

**ALMOST HAD IT ALL**

A/N: **WARNING. **This chapter contains rape. Consequently, the rating is bumped for this chapter, but only for the sequences that include the actual event.

**Chapter Nine – Rescued from the Waters**

_She sits in her corner  
singing herself to sleep  
wrapped in all of the promises  
that no one seems to keep  
she no longer cries to herself  
no tears left to wash away  
Just diaries of empty pages  
feelings gone astray  
but she will sing_

_Till everything burns  
while everyone screams  
burning their lies  
burning my dreams  
all of this hate  
and all of this pain  
I'll burn in all down  
as my anger reigns  
Till everything burns_

_Ooh, Oh_

_Walking through life unnoticed  
knowing that no one cares  
too consumed in their masquerade  
no one sees her there  
And still she sings _

Till everything burns  
while everyone screams  
burning their lies  
burning my dreams  
all of this hate  
and all of this pain  
I'll burn it all down  
as my anger reigns

_Till everything burns  
Everything burns  
(Everything burns) _

Everything burns  
Watching it all fade away  
(All fade away)

Everyone screams  
Everyone screams  
(watching it all fade away)

Ooh, oh

(While everyone screams)  
Burning down lies  
Burning my dreams  
(All of this hate)

And all of this pain  
I'll burn it all down  
as my anger reigns  
Till everything burns  
(everything burns)

Watching it all fade away  
(ooh, oh)  
(Everything burns)  
Watching it all fade away

"Everything Burns" Ben Moody feat. Anastacia

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_North of Hadrian's Wall…_

Her blood seemed to freeze the second she hit the water. Temporarily stunned by the cold, Aylin could do nothing but watch helplessly as she sank deeper and deeper, weighed down by her heavy clothes, boots and weapons.

The light drifted farther and farther away, but she was not afraid. A strange sense of peace spread throughout her body, and she realized: it was finally over. In spite of the numbness of her face, Aylin smiled. She considered herself ready for this.

Some…most, actually…would disagree, saying that 23 was far too young an age for one to consider oneself ready for death. Aylin thought differently.

More than ready to cast aside all the trials and hurt she'd had in her short life, Aylin closed her eyes to the ever-fading light from the surface.

Above the ice, the knights acted quickly. It hadn't been long since Aylin had slipped under the icy waves, but no one had expected her to sink so far so fast.

Dagonet was the first to reach the hole in which Aylin had fallen. Immediately he began to swipe one hand in the water, hoping to grab hold of something, while the other kept a grip on the ice to balance him.

Growling in frustration after a few unsuccessful moments, Dagonet yelled to Bors,

"Bors, hold my legs! I can't reach her like this!"

Bors knelt down quickly and took hold of the man's legs. Dagonet moved closer to the edge of the hole, plunging both arms into the water.

His fingers had gone numb, but when Dagonet's hand bumped into something, he knew he had what he'd been looking for. Grabbing hold of whatever it was, Dagonet pulled with all the strength he could muster in his position.

It turned out, that he had gripped Aylin's forearm. As her body came closer to the surface, Dagonet could see her eyes were closed and her lips blue. Crying out in strain one last time, Dagonet pulled her from the water, with Tristan grabbing her legs to pull her onto the ice.

The knights, and even Guinevere, watched in worry as Tristan leaned over Aylin's face checking for some kind of life. The only sounds heard were the panting of adrenaline, Tristan's mumbled words and the shouts from the remainder of the Saxon infantry on the opposite side of the lake.

Tristan frantically listened for Aylin's breathing and was panicked when it could not be heard. Taking her rapidly blue-turning face in his hands, he put his mouth to hers and blew in.

After several more tries, he was rewarded by Aylin's coughing, sputtering and immediate shivering. Tristan watched as her eyes opened slightly, their blue centers looking up at him.

He mistook the disappointment he read in them before they closed again to be because he, Tristan, had brought her back, not one of the others.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

After the knights had caught back up with the caravan, Arthur called a halt in order to help the wounded.

The sick wagon and Honorius carriage were stopped near each other, a fire built in between them, with blankets going from end to end, to give some semblance of privacy to the people in the makeshift 'infirmary'.

On one side of the fire, Fulcinia was competently stitching up a large gash on Dagonet's upper arm were he had been nicked by an arrow that had apparently missed Aylin.

Not far from where they sat, the knights were spread out, vertical lines of worry and concern etched between their brows, as they watched Gawain and Arthur poke around the arrow sticking from Aylin's side.

She had been changed into dry clothes by the knights, or at least down to the bare essentials, which by that point, Fulcinia had started clucking at them, forcing them out of the space while she herself finished the changing. Though she was burning with fever, Aylin was nearest to the fire, bundled in blankets and furs, though leaving her wound exposed to the ministrations of the commander and his knight.

"The blood is bright, so at least we know the arrow didn't hit any organs," Arthur was saying while helping Gawain roll Aylin onto her right side, the woman wincing at the movement.

"It is almost out on this side, so it is safe to push it through," Gawain said through tight lips, surveying the gruesome wound, then Aylin's feverish face.

Tristan took a strip of corded leather and placed it between Aylin's teeth, instructing her to bite down.

"On the count of three," Arthur began, breaking off the end of the arrow. "One…Two…Three!" He said with a grunt as he pushed the Saxon bolt through Aylin's side, his hands now slippery with her warm blood. Aylin groaned lowly as her teeth clenched the leather.

Gawain immediately pulled the rest through and placed the cloths they had prepared to the exit, giving Arthur the others to do the same to the entry.

"It is too deep for stitching," Tristan stated, "the wound needs cauterizing."

All the men swore at the news. Cauterizing was a nasty business that no one wished to take part in. Arthur sighed and placed his own dagger in the fire until the blade glowed red.

Gesturing to his men, each grabbing hold of Aylin, Arthur took his dagger from the flame and placed it in the wound.

She screamed against the cord, and her eyes closed, squeezing out a tiny drop of moisture.

When Arthur signaled that he was done, Gawain gently laid Aylin back on the blankets, her eyes still closed. Arthur took the extra bit of cloth and tied a knot in it on Ayin's stomach to keep the bandage from falling off.

While watching his commander, Gawain's gaze was drawn to a jagged light-colored scar on Aylin's lower abdomen, spanning from one hipbone to the other.

"What is this?" He asked softly to himself.

But not softly enough, because Galahad soon asked, "What is it?" peering over Gawain's shoulder to get a better look.

The others joined Galahad in coming closer and getting their own look. No one noticed, except for Dagonet, who stayed seated, that Fulcinia froze when the scar was mentioned.

"It looks like it was done with a blade," Lancelot muttered.

"Very slowly," Tristan added, though he was aware of what it might be--from what Aylin had told him--he couldn't be sure. "Look at how it angles. It would have been a clean, straight cut if it were received in battle."

Bors crouched down and looked curiously at the topic of discussion.

"What is it Bors?" Arthur asked.

Still looking at the scar, he replied, "Looks to me like it was done slowly and deliberately, with a distinct purpose in mind. They wanted to do something like this to Vanora – the midwives – when it took so long to birth number one."

Everyone paused. Fulcinia whimpered.

"Are you suggesting that…Aylin was pregnant and someone cut the child from her body?" Arthur asked in a shocked tone. "Is that what Marius was speaking of this morning?"

Gawain watched Fulcinia with suspicious eyes. "Perhaps we should ask the Lady Honorius?"

The men turned toward the woman, who had a look of fear on her pale face.

"Do you know something of this?" Lancelot questioned sternly.

Fulcinia lowered her eyes. No one noticed that Aylin's were now open.

Dagonet leaned toward her and asked softly, "What do you know?"

While Fulcinia told the part of the story that she knew, Aylin remembered it for herself.

_The air was smoky, with random rays of light spiking through the sheer tent cloth. Aylin's bare feet were roughly dragged across the rickety stage by Machus until she was front and center. These people scared her. The bodies were visible, but the faces were obscured. Maybe it was the smoke, or maybe it was what that Roman had given her. She couldn't be sure. Machus began prodding and groping her, trying to get her to act 'feisty', as the soldiers had put it. The bidding began………….._

_Lucius Canimas was the name of the man who had bought Aylin, whom he referred to as his 'Little Sarmatian Flower'. The moment they returned to the Canimas Estate, Aylin was subjected to the unmasked hatred of the Lady of the house – Borcella, Lucius' extremely jealous wife. What she had to be jealous of a five year old, no one knew for certain. But…they had a pretty good clue._

_Since they had returned late in the day, Aylin was taken to a small room where she was to sleep. Once she was inside, the door was closed and locked. Frightened in the dark, cold room, Aylin curled up in a ball on the small, dirty bed in the corner. She hadn't been there long it seemed when the door slammed open and closed with Lucius' intrusion._

'_Now, girl, is the time to see if your price was worthy,' Lucius snarled._

_Grabbing her by the hair, Lucuis pulled her up. He made short work of her clothes, easily ripping off the tattered garments, then pushed her back on the tiny bed, quickly parting his robes and laying himself on top of her small frame. _

_The tears had already formed in Aylin's eyes and were now sliding down the sides of her face. This is the kind of thing that those soldiers had done to her and she just couldn't understand why. She could feel the hardness of Lucuis' swollen manhood pressing against her bare legs. Struggle was pointless. There was no way a girl her age could overpower a grown man. _

_Even the knowledge of what was to come didn't prepare Aylin for the pain when Lucuis violently thrust into her. Screaming loudly did nothing to stop it. He must have gotten irritated with her constant yelping, because he covered her mouth with his hand, while his own mouth greedily sucked the nipples of her nonexistent breasts. His hips continued to move for what seemed like hours. His male grunts of lust, pleasure and satisfaction escalated about the room, while her muffled whimpering quieted as she began to lose consciousness. But then…he withdrew. Aylin couldn't help the sigh in relief as her senses were returned to her. _

_But Lucius wasn't finished with her yet. Sitting on the bed, he leaned up against he wall and grabbed her and sat her on his lap, his penis filling her from the back. Her agonized scream went on and on as Lucius pumped her hips up and down with his hands. The act made her so physically sick that Aylin vomited, the bile covering one side of the bed and the floor. Aylin lost consciousness long before Lucius was finished._

_When she woke some time later, curling in a ball on the bed, the only thing that convinced Aylin it wasn't some horrible dream – nightmare – was the pain in her body and the vomit on the bed…_

_Sitting on the bed in her room, Aylin wondered how she had survived the past seven years. Now look at her: twelve years old, no family, a slave, an unwilling prostitute, and now, at least eight months pregnant with some man's bastard………_

Aylin was finished with her memory by the time Galahad noticed she was awake.

Looking straight at Fulcinia, Aylin asked what she'd wondered since they'd arrived at the camp.

"Where is he? Where is my son?"

**Next Chapter: Birth to Memories**

I had to work for four hours after school for the past two weeks. So I haven't had time to write. I apologize.

I sincerely hope that you guys enjoyed the chapter and I will try to update soon.

**Please Review! **I only got one for the last chapter and it made me sad.

Bye!


	12. Birth to Memories

**Almost Had It All**

Hey guys! Guess what? I got a Laptop! My mom got me one for Christmas, but she couldn't wait that long to give it to me–plus she knew how much trouble my old computer was giving me. Unfortunately, the memory pen wouldn't work, so I can't get my chapters off the old computer. So I had to completely rewrite this chapter–which was almost ready for posting–so sorry for the late update! Also, this chapter starts off with Fulcinia's telling of the story and will then continue on with the end of last chapter.

**Chapter Ten: Birth to Memories**

_I know there's something in the wake of your smile  
__I get a notion from the look in your eyes  
__Yeah  
__You've built a love, but love falls apart  
__You're little piece of heaven, turns to dark_

_Listen to your heart  
__When he's calling for you  
__Listen to your heart  
__There's nothing else you can do  
__I don't know where you're going  
__And I don't know why  
__Listen to your heart  
__Before you tell him goodbye_

_Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worth while  
__The precious moments are all lost in the tide  
__Yeah  
__There swept away, and nothing is what it seems  
__The feeling of belonging to your dreams_

_Listen to your heart  
__When he's calling for you  
__Listen to your heart  
__There's nothing else you can do  
__I don't know where you're going  
__And I don't know why  
__Listen to your heart  
__Before you tell him goodbye  
_

_I don't know where you're going  
__And I don't know why  
__Listen to your heart  
__Before you tell him goodbye_

"_Listen to Your Heart" D.H.T. (Acoustic version)_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_North of Hadrian's Wall..._

Dagonet leaned toward her and asked softly, "What do you know?"

Raising tear filled eyes to the knights, Fulcinia told them all she knew.

"Aylin was once a slave to a man named Lucius Canimas, a cruel man who had been a friend of my late husband," the knights nodded in recognition of information they knew, "I do know for a fact that Lucius' wife, Borcella, was immensely jealous of the young girl. At first, I was unsure as to why, but then, during a visit to the Canimas Villa, I overheard a handmaiden speaking of Borcella's inability to give Lucius heirs.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself. My husband and I had made several trips to Lucius' home–because Marius and Lucius often did business together–in the years after Lucius purchased Aylin at market. Lucius was very...proud of his possessions and displayed them as often as possible. He used her as a party favor, passing her out to his guests–those of whom didn't bring their own with them–as a slave for the night."

Fulcinia paused as a tear slipped from her eye and ran down her cheek. Brushing it away, she continued in a broken voice.

"I-I know that she was a favorite of Marius. That poor girl. Anytime that I saw her, she looked so sad. No child should have to suffer such pain. During one visit–I think she was about eleven summers then–I walked down a hall and heard her sobbing. I opened the door and saw her crouched in the corner of this horrible room–so small and dirty–with her head to her knees. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me that she had just found out she was pregnant from the Villa's healer. She told me how scared she was. It was impossible to know who the father was: Lucius had had many visitors that month, including Cardinal Crassus, my own husband and God knows who else.

"After that day, I learned of Borcella's situation and realized the source of her hatred. Here was this girl, who was capable of doing what she could not–have a child. It was then that I also learned of the reason for Aylin's fear. Borcella was a very manipulative woman, so when Lucius and Marius went away on business, she had Aylin taken away to someplace–I probably don't want to know where she had her kept–until it was time to give birth. Borcella planned to pass the baby off as her own, since Lucius wouldn't be back for a long while."

She looked over at Bors and continued.

"You were correct about the scar. Borcella didn't want the baby to actually be born of a Sarmatian girl, so she contracted someone to get it out another way. I have heard of such procedures and know that most women do not survive the blood loss or the infection. It was a miracle that Aylin lived. After the operation was over, Borcella had her husband's mercenaries dump Aylin in the river. After that, it is said that she was found by the General Gattus and his son Cornelius, who then took her back to his home in Greece.

"When she came back and kil–" She broke off and looked questioningly at Arthur, who nodded and replied,

"We are aware of her actions against the Canimas family."

"After she killed Lucius and Borcella, she came to me and asked me to take care of the baby–Dominic, as I'm sure you figured out this morning–for her. She knew that she would never be able to do it herself. The child would always be a target for her enemies. I guess I didn't do a very good job of taking care of her son."

"It wasn't your fault that Marius put him in that cell," Dagonet told her firmly.

Silence fell about the men as they thought on what they'd been told. Galahad looked over to the woman by the fire and saw that Aylin's eyes were open and watching Fulcinia. He cleared his throat to gain the men's attention and gestured with his chin when they look at him in askance.

"Where is he? Where is my son?" Aylin asked hoarsely.

When Fulcinia didn't speak, Dagonet answered, "He is with Lucan. A serf woman offered to make them stew for dinner. He went after Lucan begged him to; he was worried about you."

"Would you like me to go fetch him for you?" Fulcinia finally asked.

Shaking her head, Aylin replied, "No. I just wished to know his whereabouts."

The men watched her, and Lancelot asked how her wound was.

"Fine. It hurts like a bitch, but it will be fine."

When they continued to watch her, Aylin spoke in a soft voice, "Don't pity me. I don't need or want it. It wasn't like it was unusual for a girl to have a child at that age."

"But y–you have a son that you don't even know," Galahad asked incredulously.

"And that's how it will stay," she replied harshly. "It is better that he knows nothing of me as well. He wasn't even supposed to know who I was," Aylin said, looking at Fulcinia.

"When he got older, Dominic started asking me about his parents," Fulcinia stated quickly, "I only told him that his mother's name was Aylin. He must have heard it from someone and realized who you were. I never expected him to find out. But when you brought him out of the prison, it seemed as though he recognized him and you him. How is that possible?"

Aylin said nothing for a moment, then spoke. "I saw him in Rome. Five years ago, after ago after Gattus' death, Cornelius and I traveled to Rome and I saw him an alley. To say I was shocked is an immense understatement. To know him without ever having seen him before... But he looked so much like Kavan, that it couldn't have been anyone else."

Aylin paused to look at Arthur. "That was when I first tried to stop using _Morpheus_. But it's much harder than I thought it would be."

Nodding, Arthur stood and said, "Well, I think we should let you rest. Tomorrow you will ride in the wagon–no arguments," he added when she opened her mouth to retort. "You cannot ride a horse with a freshly cauterized wound."

"But _he_ will be in the wagon as well," Aylin said through gritted teeth.

Arthur gave her a sympathetic frown and left the "infirmary". Soon, the others followed suit: some of the knights going on watch, while the others went to rest. Fulcinia left to find Alecto and make sure that he'd eaten supper.

But Aylin wasn't alone. Tristan sat next to her, pulling out a knife to cut up the bruised apple he'd taken from his sack.

Offering her a piece, Tristan asked softly in his accented voice, "Why don't you want to know him?"

Taking the offered chunk of apple, Aylin asked before taking a bite, "_This_ coming from the elusive scout, who never gets close to anyone, or so I hear?"

Tristan shrugged and merely said, "Curiosity."

Aylin sighed and moved her gaze from his face to the blazing fire. "To what end? Tristan, being a scout I'm sure you've noticed that I'm not exactly well. How can anyone be after taking a drug such as _Morpheus_ for as long as I have?"

Looking back at him, she said quietly, "I don't want to get to know him, and see what I almost had."

Tristan furrowed his brows. "Almost?"

"Before... Before I left Rome for Britain, I went to a doctor, hoping he could tell me why I would start shaking, or why I would cough uncontrollably for several minutes. When I told him about the _Morpheus_, he said that... if taken long enough, it would destroy you. He estimated at least two years."

Aylin could tell by the expression on his face that he understood what she meant.

"That's why I don't want to get close to him. It would be unfair–to both of us."

She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket tighter around her, willing herself to sleep.

Tristan stared at her face: the closed lids, the long lashes, the red cheeks, and full lips.

Something inside him heaved at the thought of her dying. She had–hopefully–a full life ahead of her.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The next morning, Aylin sat annoyed in the wagon. Across from her sat Guinevere, who didn't seem too happy to have Aylin in the wagon either. Dominic and Lucan sat adjacent to both women, confused by the tense silence.

Aylin watched as the Woad would watch for Lancelot or Arthur–whoever was closer–and try her damnedest to get his attention.

After several hours of listening to the girl's flirting, and avoiding eye contact and speech with Dominic by feigning sleep, Aylin finally lost all patience and sat up. Glaring at Guinevere, Aylin hopped off the bumpy cart and untied Artay from its back post.

Gritting her teeth, Aylin swung up on her horse, hissing at the stab of hot pain in her side. Gathering the reins, she guided Artay ahead of the wagon.

When Gawain told her to return to the cart, Aylin replied with, "If I go back to that wagon, I'll kill that Woad and I don't think that would make Arthur very happy, now would it?"

Seeing the wisdom in the decision, Gawain said no more on the subject and continued to walk his horse next to Aylin's.

A little after midday, the caravan stopped for a rest and a short meal. When Arthur approached her, Aylin merely repeated what she'd said to Gawain, which caused the commander to sigh, but then leave her alone.

An hour later, Arthur roused everyone from their seats and the group started to move again. Aylin went to Artay and found Dominic standing before the black stallion, patting the horse's neck.

When the boy noticed Aylin's presence, he softly said, "He is an amazing animal."

"His name is Artay. He was a gift," she replied, untying the ropes that tied the horse to a nearby tree.

"From my father?" Dominic asked shyly.

Scoffing, Aylin said sharply, "No. From a good friend of mine."

Emboldened by the fact that she was actually talking to him, Dominic continued with his questions.

"Will I meet your friend?"

"He's dead," she answered with a sigh.

"How did he die?"

"Gods, kid! Do you ever stop asking questions?"

Dominic's bravery wilted at her tone and his gaze dropped to the ground. Aylin saw the dejected motion and held back a curse.

Placing her hand on his thin shoulder, Aylin said softly, "Understand. I have a history that I don't like to think of, and your questions do not help. I know you know who I am to you, but... I'm a soldier, I haven't spent a lot of time around children... Oh hell, I don't know what to say to you , all right? I'm not the "motherly" type."

He looked back up at her, and slowly nodded his head.

Aylin returned the gesture with a brisk nod. After a moment's deliberation, she asked,

"Would you like to ride him?"

Surprised, Dominic stared at her, then his gaze moved between Aylin and the horse before he nodded eagerly.

Moving out of the way of the stirrup, Aylin placed the boy's foot into the leather strap and gave him a push up onto the stallion, who perked his ears back, as if following their conversation.

"Hold the reins firmly and make sure you give him his head," Aylin instructed, taking the rope from the tree and leading the horse to the middle of the caravan where the other knights were, rolling her eyes at Lancelot when the boy began his endless questions again.

**Sorry it's a little short, but this chapter serves more as an interlude before we get back to the wall and more drama erupts. Hope you liked it.**

**Review!**


	13. Awaiting Surprises

**Almost Had It All**

**Well, despite the fact that I only received a couple of reviews for the last chapter, I'm trudging onward and posting the next update. I really hope y'all can do better with the reviews, they make me happy!**

**PLUS: When writing this chapter, I realized that this story is almost done, as it will end at the Wall. I'm adding in a couple of days after the knights arrive back at the wall up until the battle at Badon Hill, just to have more interaction between the characters. BUT, I would like some** **ideas. I know how the story will end, but I don't want it to happen too abruptly. If one of you wouldn't mind helping me out–with ideas and how the rest should be written–I would really appreciate it. If you're interested or have ideas you would like to share, please email me at los.ojos. and please, please email me!**

**Chapter Eleven:** **Awaiting Surprises**

_Yeah, Yeah  
__I know what darkness means  
__(and the void you left in me)  
__The isolation stings  
__(So think it wants to bleed)  
__The echoes in my brain  
__(Of the things you said to me)  
__You took my everything  
__Now I'm coming for you_

_I won't back down  
__I will not bow  
__I've come to bring you hell  
__I can't forget  
__Things you did  
__I've come to bring you hell_

_The shadows that you see  
__(In the places that you sleep)  
__Are memories of me  
__(Better pray your soul to keep)  
__The truth behind your eyes  
__(You know that place you never see)  
__Your darkest little lies  
__Are coming for you!_

_I won't back down  
__I will not bow  
__I've come to bring you hell  
__I can't forget  
__Things you did  
__I've come to bring you hell_

_All the scars that never heal  
__All the wounds that will not seal  
__I will not forget the day  
__These memories never fall  
_

_I won't back down  
__I will not bow  
__I've come to bring you hell  
__I can't forget  
__Things you did  
__I've come to bring you hell_

_I've come to bring you hell  
__(I've come to bring you hell)_

"_Won't Back Down" Fuel_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Approaching Badon Hill..._

Much to Aylin's relief, Dominic's questions had not stayed solely centered on her. The woman had visibly smirked at Lancelot when his snickering at her discomfort had turned to shocked anxiety when the boy's questions redirected toward himself.

But, alas, none of the knights were safe it seemed. One by one, they each suffered through the kid's endless interrogations. Dominic's curiosity led to the asking to ride the knights' mounts. Some–Tristan and Bors and Lancelot–refused, because of the risk of Saxons, while others grudgingly gave the boy a boost up onto their horse.

The lucky man at this point in time was Arthur. Riding at the front of the caravan with Arthur on the horse behind him, Dominic's voice could be faintly heard by Aylin, who rode several horses back.

Shaking her head in amusement, Aylin wondered when the boy would get tired, or lose his voice–which ever came first.

"He never seems to be satisfied with the information given him," Galahad remarked from his position beside Aylin.

Laughing, she replied, "No. No, he does not."

"I know you're relieved."

Galahad continued when she looked at him questioningly.

"I heard the things he asked you before we left this morning. About his father. That can't be an easy question to answer."

Moving her gaze from the young knight's face to the hills ahead, Aylin sighed.

"It's not something I like to talk about. I expected him to ask me something once I realized he knew who I was, but... I never expected it to happen so soon. I don't wish to have to explain it to him."

"What will you do? When were reach the Wall and are given our freedom? What will you do about him?"

"I don't know," she said quietly after a long pause. "I never thought I would have someone like him to take care of. I don't think I can do it. As I told him this morning, I am not the motherly type."

After her statement, Aylin wondered if Fulcinia would take him. She wasn't going to lie to herself by saying that she could care for a child. There was no way it could happen. Impossible.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Badon Hill..._

The men and Aylin were silent as the gates of Hadrian's Wall were slowly pulled open to allow the caravan's entry.

Even Dominic had ceased his questions when asked to return to the wagon to wait with Lucan and Guinevere. Perhaps, he could feel the nervous tension in the air.

Horses and wagons alike noisely clopped and squeaked into the courtyard. Aylin could see Vanora and her bastards waiting–as they had when she'd first arrived–behind a gate, grasping the bars as they watched anxiously for Bors–and smiling when he came into view.

She watched as the large knight dismounted and went to his family, smiling softly as he kissed his lover with all his might, then picked up one of his boys, patting him on the back while Vanora looked on lovingly.

That's how they used to be, Aylin thought, remembering her parents. It made her sad to think that she didn't have something like that for herself. She had experienced many things in her twenty-three years, but that deep, heart-warming love had never been one of them.

Dismounting, she noticed that all the northern "evacuees" were still standing in the courtyard, uncertain of what to do in this strange place. Most had probably never been this far south, if they had ever even left the Honorius Estate before this. The wagons had been emptied quickly and Guinevere, Lucan and Dominic now stood at the front of the serfs, awaiting orders of where they were to go.

Arthur called Bors back to the men. The knight set down his son–who then went to his mother–patted his other children on their heads and shoulders, and then rejoined his brothers.

Once all together, the knights and Aylin released a breath at the fact that they had completed the mission, with no important deaths, and now they would be free to return to their homeland.

The bishop walked out of the fort and stared around in disbelief.

"God be praised! Alecto! Alecto, let me see you!" The man exclaimed in his best "admiration voice".

Alecto took a hasty step back as the man reached out to embrace him. Obviously, the bishop's charm was as repulsive to the young boy as it was to everyone else.

Attempting to save face, the bishop moved to push at the sleeves of his robes. He looked at Arthur with a smile on his face, but started slightly at the Commander's hard, expectant stare.

"Ah, yes. Your knights' papers," he mused, gesturing at a soldier carrying a box that all the men recognized as the one from the Meeting Hall several days earlier.

When the soldier stepped up to the bishop, Germanus opened the lid, revealing a group of scrolls, and waved his hand about as the men stood a little straighter.

"Your papers, discharging you from Roman military service."

Grunting at the soldier to follow, the bishop walked slowly to each knight and handed him his scroll.

With a hateful glare, Germanus handed a scroll to Aylin, quickly turning around as if he couldn't stand to see her literally holding her freedom in her hands.

Suspicious of the bishop's jerky motions, Aylin untied the knot holding the scroll closed, unrolled it and stared at the writing upon the paper.

As the knights were clasping each others shoulders in mutual congratulations, Aylin's heart skipped a few beats. Fingers clenched the paper so tightly the knuckles had gone pale; breathing so rushed and shallow that it roughly passed through her lungs; eyes that had turned a blazing, firey blue.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" She shouted as loudly as she could manage.

Germanus continued walking away from her, and closer to–she noticed–the soldiers across the courtyard.

"Turn around and face me you bastard from hell. You knew about this the whole time, didn't you? You were just counting the days until you could give this to me!" She snarled, stalking behind him and hurling the scroll to the dirt.

Everyone in the courtyard watched in shock as Aylin grabbed Germanus by the shoulder and spun him around... And treated him to a solid right hook.

The bishop thudded to the ground and Aylin sprang upon him, punching him as hard and as fast as she could.

All sound had disappeared for Aylin. All except the pounding of her heart and of her fists.

Voices were distorted and demon-like. Hands pulled at her, stripping Aylin from her attack of the bishop.

"Aylin! Aylin, stop!"

She didn't realize what had happened until she felt Tristan hold her back and heard his words.

Her hands were numb and covered in blood–the bishop's she noticed, glancing up at his face, as he sat up with a soldier's help and wiped his mouth.

"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur shouted over the commotion of the people, who had come closer to see the fight. His shout silenced the crowd, and he repeated the question, looking at Aylin.

"He is a snake! That is the meaning of this," she replied hoarsely from her position on the ground with Tristan's arms still about her.

The scout looked around and reached out for the scroll and read it.

Aylin felt him stiffen and she help but do the same as the memory of what she'd read flashed through her mind.

Tristan clenched his teeth and handed the paper to Arthur.

The Commander took the scroll and scanned it, stopping at two distinct words.

"Immediate Execution?" He yelled, bringing his gaze up to the bishop's.

"By order of the Emperor," Germanus smirked, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood to the ground.

**Alright, sorry that this is such a short chapter–the shortest one yet. But as I said up top, I need ideas and don't wish to hurry the story before I get some–which I need. **

**I you don't mind knowing how the story will end, please email me so I can share my ideas and possibly gain some from you. I guess it could be called a beta, but I need one. Someone to bounce ideas off of through email. My address is at the top of the chapter and also in my profile.**

**Please Review.**


	14. Executed Plans

**Almost Had It All**

**Sorry for the wait, y'all. I was waiting to see if someone emailed me with some ideas before I posted my next chapter. But, sadly, no one did and I had to go on and post. I'll repeat my request in case you missed it last time: I need a beta, or someone who just wants to give me some ideas. My email address is in my profile, so use that or just leave a review. Which–by the way–thank you guys so much for. I love getting reviews and y'all did a great job this last chapter! Keep it up!**

**If I don't get some more ideas, expect this story to have a few more chapters. I need to wrap this puppy up–since I've been working on it for almost a year now–so I can get back to work on my other story, which has been on hiatus until this one's finished.**

**FYI: I know the history, and I've done the research, but I wasn't sure if they mainly beheaded, burned or "whatever" people at this point in time. So, I'll just be using the ol' stake and fire thing when I get around to the actual event. **

**Chapter Twelve: Executed Plans**

_One devotion to an empty moment.  
Can't you stay tonight?  
Silence broken with words unspoken.  
Now she's on her knees (no more) _

"Feeling so useless, can I beg for one more?" she said  
Taking with arms wide open.  
Longing for sleep again.

The air is clearing.  
Again, we're breathing.  
Water turns to wine.  
The day is tired,  
the night inside her.  
Now she is alive (no more)

"Feeling so useless, can I beg for one more?" she said.  
Taking with arms wide open.  
Longing for sleep again.

But now, I'm awake...  
But now, I'm awake...  
But now, I'm awake...

Keep breathing, 'til you feel something,  
Take my breath  
(Away!) Keep breathing, 'til you feel something, take my breath away  
(Away!) Keep breathing, 'til you feel something, take my breath away  
(Away!) Keep breathing, 'til you feel something, take my breath away  
(Away!) Keep breathing, 'til you feel something, take my breath away

"Feeling so useless, can I beg for one more?" she said.Taking with arms wide open.  
Longing for sleep again.

But now, I'm awake (I'm awake)  
But now, I'm awake (I'm awake)  
But now, I'm awake (I'm awake)  
But now, I'm awake

"_Awake" Finch_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Hadrian's Wall..._

"Immediate Execution?" Arthur yelled, bringing his gaze up to the bishop's.

"By order of the Emperor," Germanus smirked, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood to the ground.

Horton rushed over to the bishop, who shrugged off his secretary's helping hand and slowly stood on his own.

Looking at Aylin, who was pulled to her feet by Tristan in her shocked state, Germanus added in a venomous snarl,

"I think we can add assault upon my person to your list of crimes, Marsile."

"I would like to hear what crimes she has committed that require her death, Bishop," Lancelot said through clenched teeth.

Casting an indifferent glance at the dark knight's threatening tone, Germanus recited Aylin's offenses.

"Marsile is guilty of the murders of Lord _and_ Lady Canimas, and was sentenced to her service to Rome as punishment. Those of us with the Church wished to have executed for their deaths, but the late General Gattus must have been blinded by her temptress ways and petitioned for her life. Even after being sentenced, this... whore is suspected in several other noble deaths. All men, and all former friends of Lucius Canimas–"

"Oh, please! You never suspected anyone else in those deaths. I'll admit I did it, I care not. And I enjoyed every bit of it. But none of that matters, anyway. The Church has wanted me gone for years, and will do anything to get what it wants," Aylin spat.

Germanus didn't deny or confirm her statement. He just stared at her, before sniffing and ordering her imprisonment.

When she noticed that the knights made aggressive movements to their weapons, Aylin violently shook her head.

"No. Don't get involved. This is my business."

Soldiers roughly grabbed hold of her arms, shackled her wrists, and began pulling her toward the jail.

"Wait!"

Everyone in the courtyard stopped to look at who had spoken. All except Aylin, who kept walking–knowing exactly who the voice belonged to, and desperately wishing he would keep silent–practically dragging the soldiers behind her.

Be quiet. Please, be quiet, she thought silently.

"Wait!" The voice seemed more panicked now.

The soldiers had fully stopped, bringing Aylin to a halt, and watched as a young boy ran up to the 'prisoner' and grabbed hold of the chains binding her hands together.

"Don't take her away! Please don't take her away," Dominic pleaded.

Germanus watched Aylin closely, and read the pleading in her own eyes, directed toward the Sarmatians. Pleading for what? He wondered, looking hard at the dark-haired boy. And then, something clicked.

"Boy," the bishop started, walking toward him, "Why do you care what happens to this criminal?"

Dominic turned to answer the bishop, and Germanus grinned heartlessly when he saw the boy's face.

Before Dominic could say anything, Aylin grabbed hold of his shoulders and pushed him toward Galahad, who then nudged the boy behind himself and the other knights.

"Ah. So I thought," Germanus said. "There were rumors, but I never really thought they were accurate. But what a delicious piece of information: Marsile, the great warrior, has a bastard son. There are several who will be happy to hear such a thing."

No one needed to question the bishop's sarcastic comment. Obviously, there would be those who were uncomfortable with the fact that 'Marsile's' bloodline would be continued.

Unless Dominic was 'taken care of' as well, Tristan mused silently, reading Aylin's plea perfectly: "Watch Dominic. Keep Germanus away from him."

Smirking, Germanus called out, "Take her away. Her death awaits her tomorrow morning."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Silence reigned at the Round Table of Arthur and his Knights.

A day such as this should have been a time of celebration and much drink.

But the tavern was full to the point of being overrun and the men were in no mood for ale and wenches.

Instead, Lancelot, Galahad, Gawain, Dagonet, Bors, Tristan and Arthur sat in their seats at the table–that, for so long, had meant equality and fellowship between them–and wondered now how to keep one that they considered their own from death.

All of them had an idea, but none voiced it in Arthur's presence. They didn't think their Commander – ex-commander now—would like to hear of a clergyman's death at his fort at the hand of his own men.

"We have to do something," Gawain sighed, breaking the silence. "If we don't, not only will they kill Aylin, but the boy as well. We all saw the look in the bishop's eyes when he saw him. If he got the chance, Germanus would kill Dominic with his own hands."

"How? Other than killing Germanus, we have no other options," Lancelot pointed out lowly.

"We could just kill the soldiers. They'll be the ones doin' it," Bors suggested.

"We will be killing no one," Arthur said sternly.

"Arthur! This is Aylin's life we are discussing. If Kavan were here, he'd have already killed the Roman bastard!" Galahad argued.

"Well, Kavan _isn't_ here, Galahad," the Roman replied somberly.

"If we don't do something, Aylin won't be here either," Dagonet added. "She saved my life at that lake. I won't let her die without doing anything to stop it."

Tristan sat quietly and without expression. He'd already made his decision. Unlike Arthur, the scout wasn't driven by his conscience; he wasn't completely sure he had one to begin with. He had no problem with having someone's blood on his hands, particularly the bishop's.

It was this bloodlust of his that always separated him from his brothers-in-arms. They just didn't understand his nonchalance in killing. Though they themselves had become numb to death over the years, it seemed that the scout had been born with a sword in his hands.

But that woman, he thought, she understands.

She hadn't judged him. Hadn't pulled away from him, as others had. She understood because she had the same mentality in herself.

And, dammit, he wasn't going to sit around and do nothing.

He waited until Arthur finally couldn't stand the silence and left to think of a way to, if not stop the execution, then at least stall it until he could.

Once the Roman left, the scout stood and exited the room, quietly making his way through the halls before stopping in front of a door and knocking.

A soft voice asked "Who is there?" from the other side.

"Tristan."

The door was unlocked and cracked open an inch or so, and Fulcinia's gray eyes could be seen in the sliver of light shining from the room.

When she recognized the scout, the door opened further so she could stick her head out.

"Have you and the others come up with a way to help her?" Was the first question out of her mouth.

Shaking his head slightly, Tristan went straight to the point of his visit.

"Is he still here?"

Nodding, Fulcinia replied,

"He and Lucan are with Alecto right now."

After much thought, it had been decided that the safest place for Dominic was with Fulcinia and her son. Arthur was sure that the bishop would make no harmful move toward the boy as long as he was with the Pope's godson.

Satisfied, Tristan nodded to the Roman woman, made sure the door was shut and locked and retreated down the hall.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

In a jail cell, Aylin released a breath of relief.

Not only were her hands chained to the wall, but–after a little bit of contact between her foot and a couple of soldiers' groins–her ankles were shackled now as well.

Fortunately, the men had taken a tavern break and would likely forget all about her after a few cups of wine and with the serving wenches to keep them occupied.

Her ribs and back hurt badly. Her designated tormenters, Timon and Brutus, had gladly kicked her once she was chained. They seemed to have a special fondness for her recently cauterized wound, once they had accidentally realized that it was there.

The right side of her face was throbbing and would probably bruise.

Damn Romans, she said quietly. Aylin leaned back against the wall and hung her head.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting like that when light footsteps could be heard on the stairs leading down to the holding cells. Surprisingly, Aylin was alone in the jail–the jailer above being the only exception–so she didn't have a hint as to who was approaching her little slice of hell.

Expecting one of the knights, she couldn't help but gape in shock when Guinevere appeared outside the bars holding Aylin in.

Leaning her dark head back on the wall and resting her forearms on bent knees, Aylin waited for an explanation.

"No doubt you're surprised to see me here," the woad said after a moment.

"What are you doing here, Woad?" Aylin asked harshly.

With a scoff, Guinevere shot back, "Even in a cage you still snarl at me like a rabid dog."

"Better a rabid dog, than a determined rabbit. I'm surprised you're not latched on to either Lancelot's or Arthur's leg with that pleading look in your black eyes."

"You know nothing about me. I am not doing what you obviously believe I am," Guinever replied with narrowed eyes.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Guinevere. Keep thinking what you will–"

"Am I interrupting anything?"

Both women swung their gazes to the stairs, where Lancelot stood, seemingly unaware of the topic of their conversation.

The pair said nothing and Guinevere excused herself, feeling Aylin's glare upon her back all the while.

Feeling the chill in the air, Lancelot involuntarily shivered.

"What was that all about?"

Aylin stood painfully, grimacing at the as of yet unseen bruises that made themselves known at the movement.

Walking slowly toward the dark knight, Aylin stopped about a yard from the bars–the furthest the chains would allow–holding a hand over the battered wound.

"Are you alright?" Lancelot asked concernedly.

"Fine."

Regarding her with suspicious eyes, he replied,

"What was going on when I entered?"

"Nothing. I know not what you speak of."

"Oh, please, Aylin. Before Guinevere left it was cold enough in here to freeze the cock off a–"

"Don't finish that sentence, Lancelot. I've heard enough soldier's talk in the last few hours to last me a week. And I've been around soldiers my whole life!"

"Are they the ones who did this to you?" He asked quietly, gesturing to her red cheek and covered wound.

Aylin nodded with a sigh.

"Out of the two, it is Brutus, the younger, who is worse. I think he is trying to prove something," she added humorlessly.

Both were silent for several minutes.

"We are trying to find a way, Aylin," he said softly after a long hesitation.

When Aylin didn't respond, Lancelot placed a comforting hand on the bars, and turned to leave.

When the knight reached to bottom of the steps, Aylin called out,

"Watch your step with her."

Turning back, Lancelot stared at her in question.

"The woad is plotting something. I know you cannot see it, but she plays both you and your friend. Watch out for her; don't trust her. Otherwise, she will only do harm," she emphasized with a meaningful look.

Lancelot nodded and climbed the steps until out of her view.

"Watch her," Aylin said again to herself softly.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Lancelot entered the tavern with the distinct purpose of finding Tristan. Scanning the large room, his gaze soon landed on the silent scout leaning on the far wall.

Pushing through the crowd, he made his way to the man. Leaning up on the wall beside him, he said casually as to not draw attention,

"I just came from the jail. She's been beaten already."

Tristan's form tensed beside the dark knight.

"Who?" He asked simply.

Scanning the crowd yet again, Lancelot searched for the young soldier that had taken Aylin to the prison earlier that day.

"Him, there," he answered, pointing nonchalantly to a light-haired soldier practically passed out in his cup.

With a barely perceptible nod, Tristan pushed off the wall and made his way to the tavern entrance to await the man's exit.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Tristanlurked in the shadows outside the tavern with a boiling rage inside him. But he kept it hidden, as usual.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long for the man to leave. And the foolish man even left alone.

Tristan made quick work of dragging the man out of view and silencing him. The scout's stealth made it easy for the two to slip past others and up the wall unnoticed.

Taking his sharpened dagger from its sheath at his belt, Tristan plunged it into Brutus' throat and pushed the dying man off the wall to the northern side, leaving him to be feasted upon by crows until the inevitable arrival of the Saxon army.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sitting silently in his chair at the Round Table, Arthur thought more on his decision as he waited on the arrival of his accomplice. Watching the coals burnbrightly in the brazierat the center of the table, he pondered the consequences of his plan and what also would happen if it were not carried out.

A pounding on the monstrous wooden doors brought Arthur out of his reverie as Bennett entered the Meeting Hall.

The soldier who had commanded the bishop's caravan saluted Arthur and awaited his speech.

"Have a seat, Bennett. We have much to plan."

**Haha. Hope you guys liked it. Please review!**

**Give me ideas! Please! Send me an email- los ojos verdes hotmail com (Periods and "at" symbol in the spaces.)**


	15. Executed Plans Part II

**Almost Had It All**

**_Oh my goodness guys, sorry for the delay! School and work has been a hassle for the past couple of weeks and I didn't have time to sit down and write. _The story's rating has been changed from T to M officially. The "Sexual Situations" mentioned in the summary will occur in this chapter–so you've been warned.**

**Chapter Thirteen: Executed Plans Part II**

_ They tell you where you need to go  
__They tell you when you need to leave  
__They tell you what you need to know  
__They tell you who you need to be  
__But everything inside you  
__knows there's more than what you've heard  
__There's so much more than empty conversation  
__Filled with empty words_

_You're on fire  
__When he's near you  
__You're on fire when he speaks  
__You're on fire burning at these mysteries_

_Give me one more time around  
__give me one more chance to see  
__Give me everything you are  
__give me one more chance to be near you_

_When everything inside me  
__Looks like everything I hate  
__You are the hope I have for change  
__you are the only chance I'll take_

_And I'm on fire when you're near me  
__I'm on fire when you speak  
__I'm on fire burning at these mysteries  
__I'm standing on the edge of me_

_I'm standing at the edge of everything I've ever been  
__and I've been standing at the edge of me, standing  
__at the edge  
_

_I'm on fire  
__When you're near me  
__I'm on fire  
__when you speak  
__I'm on fire  
__burning at these mysteries_

_These mysteries  
__These mysteries  
__Yeah  
__You're a mystery  
__You're a mystery_

"_On Fire" Switchfoot_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Hadrian's Wall..._

After an hour or so of talking and planning, Bennett left Arthur in the Meeting Hall.

Leaning back in his chair with a sigh, Arthur rubbed his face with his hands.

"Dear Lord, please know that this is for the bestForgive me."

With that little prayer for understanding, Arthur leaned forward again to compose the letter that would be sent to Merlin. (A/N: In my story, I'm going to go ahead and assume that Merlin can read Latin)

The Roman made sure that the letter was legible and then sealed it. Calling out for the servant he knew waited at the door, he asked the man to bring Guinevere to the Hall.

The young man nodded and went off to complete his errand, while Arthur wondered if perhaps getting Guinevere involved wasn't the best idea.

He'd yet to make up his mind when the woman entered. Her dress hung off one shoulder and Arthur found it difficult to draw his eyes from the soft curve.

The woad smiled devilishly at his obvious stare. The grin slipped into a smirk as the commander shook his head and brought his eyes up to hers.

"You wanted to see me?" Guinevere asked huskily.

"Yes. I wanted to speak to you about getting a message to your father for me," Arthur replied, oblivious to the narrowing of her eyes at his "business" tone.

Internally clenching her hands in frustration, Guinevere appeared calm and poised as she so politely asked Arthur what the message entailed.

Arthur gave her a measuring look. No, he thought, I don't think I can trust Guinevere to know the specifics.

"Just strategies that I believe would be helpful to your people against the Saxons. Once Rome and my men leave, the Woads will be on their own."

Gritting her teeth, Guinevere refrained from lashing out at the comment. This is not how things were supposed to go, she thought.

She held out her hand for the letter. Arthur placed it in her palm, but quickly grabbed her wrist before she could snatch her hand away.

"Make sure it gets to Merlin, Lady. If it does not..." Arthur let the rest of his sentence trail off, but the look on Guinevere's face told him she knew exactly what he meant.

Jerking her arm out of his grasp, Guinevere stormed out of the hall. Her pouting attitude made Arthur realize how truly young and immature she was. She may have been only a few years younger than Aylin, but her actions showed that she still had a lot of growing up to do.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Shivering in the pre-dawn chilled air, Aylin once again cursed Germanus, and Crassus–well, just men in general–between coughs.

Thankfully, Brutus had yet to return to kick her some more.

Probably found some dim-witted barmaid to suck his cock for him, she thought, remembering that he had harshly asked if she would like the pleasure of doing so.

She also remembered the swift punch in the stomach he had given her in response to the spit in his eye.

When the sounds of heavy footsteps reached her ears yet again, Aylin didn't bother to look up.

"This cell seems to suit you, Marsile. Pity, we can't just keep you here," came the bishop's vile voice.

Lifting her cerulean eyes to glare at Germanus, Aylin replied, "Go piss on yourself Roman. I have better things to do than listen to you."

"Oh really? And what would that be? Counting the scratches on the wall? Or perhaps counting away the minutes until your death?"

"No actually. I could be thinking of the most painful ways to kill your sorry ass once the door on this cell is opened."

Aylin statement effectively wiped the grin of Germanus' face.

Pleased, she said, "Ah, I see. You can spit all the insults at me that you wish when there are iron bars between us, but the prospect of what would happen if they weren't terrifies you. What? Afraid your God wouldn't do anything to protect you? I heard he doesn't like hypocrites. But don't worry, I'm sure Marius Honorius has saved you one of the best seats in all of Hell."

Germanus didn't seem to have a reply as he turned on his heel and ordered the accompanying soldiers to bring her to the courtyard–but only _after_ he had left the jail.

oOoOoOoOoOo

When the guards brought her up out of the stone structure, Aylin realized just how early in the morning in truly was.

The streets were quiet and empty.

Houses were dark and silent as their inhabitants slept.

The sky held not even a hint of morning light. The only light coming from the torches held by the soldiers.

And tucked away in the far southeastern corner of the fort wall, was the contraption that Germanus had had built while the knights were away.

It was a wooden structure, rectangular in shape, with a sturdy post mounted in the center. Hanging limply from this post was a thick noose, which was threaded through a bored hole and winded its way down the structure to a spinning wheel.

With a jerk of his bald head, Germanus signaled to have Aylin bound to the post, her hands tied tightly around it and her feet shackled to the hooks imbedded on the floor. Once she was incapacitated, the bishop stepped forward and took the 'honor' of placing the noose around her 'heathen' neck.

Holding Aylin's defiant gaze, even in her current position, Germanus moved away from her, crossing himself as he did so.

"May God have mercy on your soul."

The bishop nodded and the wheel began to turn, the pressure increasing.

oOoOoOoOo

Jols had lived at Hadrian's Wall his entire life, was born there, had begun his duties as a squire at the age of seventeen and had made many trips from the main building of the compound–where the knights and visitors and himself were housed–to the stables in the course of those duties.

So many trips that he knew the way like he knew his own hand; he could make the walk in his sleep, so the darkness was of no consequence to him.

It was on one of the these walks to the stables, long before dawn, that he noticed something that was not of the ordinary at such an hour.

In one of the southern corners of the compound, the dancing of torchlight could be seen on the stone on the wall. Curious, Jols quietly made his way in the light's direction and peered around the edge of the grain house.

Though the view was partially blocked by torch-bearing soldiers, the squire could clearly make out Aylin's form tethered to a post and he quickly took notice of the slowly tightening noose about her neck.

With wide eyes, Jols retraced his steps as quietly–but much more quickly–as before back to the knights' rooms.

He rushed down the corridor and didn't bother keeping his voice down as he knew that the bishop and the soldiers couldn't possibly hear him.

"Arthur! Arthur! Come quickly! Knights, wake the bloody hell up!"

Doors were opened and wearied faces were exposed to the torchlight of the hall.

"Ah, come on Jols. What are you goin' on about?" Galahad asked around a yawn.

Ignoring the youngest knight's question, Jols looked directly at the now present Arthur.

"What is it, Jols?" The commander asked in a stern voice.

Taking a deep breath in order to abate his panting, the squire replied, "The bishop was completely serious when he said 'morning execution'. In the southeast corner, Aylin's execution is in motion as I speak!"

"What!" Lancelot and Gawain exclaimed, as the men rushed back to their rooms for their weapons.

With Excalibur in hand, Arthur ordered Dagonet to fetch Bors from his rooms he shared with Vanora and their bastards behind the tavern.

The knights ran in the direction Jols had pointed them in, hoping to reach the corner before any irreversible damage was done.

"Where is Tristan?" Gawain growled as he ran. The scout's skills could really come in handy right about now.

oOoOoOoOo

Tristan stood on the northern wall facing the woods from which he and his fellow knights had just so recently come.

He could not hear the drums from his position, but he wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

The scout's trained hearing could pick up the sound of dogs running through the alleys–looking for a morning snack–and the flap of his hawk's wings above him, but not the steady, ominous drum of the Saxon army.

He had remained there after his murder of Brutus hoping to clear his mind of its angry haze–hoping to find some way to keep Aylin from death at the hands of the Church.

He had also seen the woad, Guinevere slip out of the gates and ride quickly into the northwestern woods. He didn't ponder her actions–he knew that the girl was obsessed with two men at this fort and wouldn't leave willingly without succeeding with one of them, so she must've been on an errand.

Tristan was about to release a frustrated sigh when the sound of voices reached his ears.

They were indistinguishable and on the opposite side of the compound, but he thought he also heard the jangling of chains accompanying them. When he turned to face the direction he believed the sounds were coming from, his sharpened senses recognized the frantic shouting of Jols from the main building just to his right.

Suddenly, the jangling of chains made more sense. Pulling his daggers from their sheaths, Tristan leapt down the stairs from the parapet and sprinted toward the southeast end of the fort.

oOoOoOoOo

Germanus watched happily as the rope tightened and as Aylin's lips' pink coloring slowly gave way to a sickly blue.

"See, with this little device, we can apply a vast amount of pressure on the criminal's throat, rather than relying on their own body weight hanging from the noose to do the job for us," the bishop explained with almost giddy air about him.

Meanwhile, Aylin was trying to keep her bloodshot eyes from closing as she wished to glare at the roman for as long as she possibly could. She could feel the rope rubbing the thin flesh of her wrists and neck raw as it simultaneously kept her from drawing sufficient breath.

Just as she thought she was going to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen and her eyelids began to drop, Aylin wished she could she the calm and eager face of Dominic one last time as opposed to the frightened one he'd last bore at her sight of him.

Yes, she'd like to see her son again. And now that she thought about it, Aylin wished she could she the dark, mysterious face of the scout again...just one last time.

As her blue eyes rimmed with red closed, Aylin missed the sight of knights arrival clad in mere breeches and thin tunics–no battle armor–but no less intimidating and dangerous with their deadly weapons in hand and a mighty urge to use them.

While Arthur and the others distracted Germanus and the soldiers, Tristan came around from behind, slit the throat of the guard manning the wheel with one dagger and cut the rope with the other.

With Excalibur under his chin, Germanus howled in frustration.

"You interfere where you ought not, Artorius."

"I'll interfere where I please at my own fort, Bishop," Arthur replied in a tone that dared Germanus to argue.

The bishop scoffed.

"You think you will stop it? _She_ is marked for death by the Church itself! She will never be able to escape its reach. Her death is assured, but now you've only signed the death warrant of that bastard brat of hers as well, Artorius! The Church will hear of this!"

Arthur pressed his sword into the bishop's flesh, drawing but a bit of blood.

"Today, you leave this fort and I pray to God that I may never have to see your wretched face again, _Bishop_."

"When I leave, I take the whole of the infantry stationed here with me," Germanus retorted.

Arthur's bored expression showed how much he cared for that statement. Huffing, Germanus stalked off, the Roman soldiers not far behind him.

With the bishop and guards gone, the men could turn their attention to the structure, where Tristan was releasing Aylin from the noose about her neck.

The woman took a deep, wheezing breath once the pressure was gone and opened her weary eyes.

As the scout unbound her wrists and unshackled her feet, Aylin nodded her gratitude to them all–the bruises already sprouting up on her neck revealing the strangling of her vocal chords for the moment.

Noticing that Aylin was practically asleep on her feet, Arthur refrained from entering any conversation with her and had Tristan escort her to her quarters.

On the way to the main building, when the scout attempted to grab Aylin's elbow when she swayed on her feet, she shook him off. Tristan went unperturbed and actually smirked–he knew enough about pride to understand her actions and was happy to see she was acting like her usual self.

When they entered her rooms, Aylin sat on the mattress and stared blankly at the man.

"Do you need anything?" Tristan asked gruffly.

Swallowing–and wincing at the pain the action caused–she nodded and hoarsely said, "Water."

Tristan nodded and went to his own room to retrieve the fresh water from his table. Once he left, Aylin reached under the mattress corner and pulled out the sack of her _Morpheus_ stash.

Tristan returned to her room and gave her a questioning stare as he took in the sack and the spoon in her hand.

"I need it," she whispered.

The scout nodded and dipped her out a cup of water. Aylin took the offered cup and spooned the drug into the water and quickly drank it down before handing the cup back to Tristan.

He refilled it and this time, Aylin merely drank the water, allowing it to quench the thirst she'd felt since she'd entered the cell the day before.

She set the cup on the table beside the bed with a whispered 'Thank You', before lying down and surrendering to the overwhelming exhaustion she'd refused to give in to in the jail.

Tristan watched Aylin for a while before he brushed a hair from her face and left her to her sleep.

oOoOoOoOo

Guinevere rode hard into the woods. Though unhappy at the manner in which he'd treated their conversation, Guinevere was hoping that her completion of his request might win herself favor in his eyes.

Maybe I would do better with the other, she thought.

No, no. It has to be Arthur, she reminded herself and nudged the borrowed mare into a faster run.

It didn't take her long to arrive at her father's 'command post' deep in the forest.

Once she'd efficiently delivered the letter and spoken with Merlin for a few moments, she remounted the horse and went back the way she came, knocking on the gate the way in which she and the soldier who opened it for her had agreed upon.

oOoOoOoOo

For the first time in a little over a day, Aylin felt warmth creep up her body, felt softness under it.

She slowly popped open an eyelid and watched the sun rays stream in from her open window, judging it to be about early to mid-afternoon by their strength. She noticed that she was no longer on the cold, hard ground of the jail, but laying face-down on the warm mattress in her room.

The eyelid closed again and stayed that way for a few moments before a shuffle of feet suddenly had it and its twin open again.

"Are you all right?" Dominic asked, as he peered at her through wide eyes from the side of the bed.

More noise from behind her, had Aylin painfully lifting her head from the pillow and watching Fulcinia nervously flit about the room, nodding and tidying it for lack of nothing better to do.

When the roman woman realized that the boy's question was not directed at her, she whirled around and sighed with relief at Aylin's open eyes.

"Oh, thank you, Lord! You're awake!"

"Yes, I'm awake," she whispered, shifting over to her back and groaning when she rolled over the cauterized arrow wound.

Aylin looked back at Dominic, who had come closer and laid a hand on the bed beside her.

"I'm fine," she said softly and placed her hand over his.

Going to the door, Fulcinia called out and soon Dagonet entered.

"You're finally awake. I need to check your wounds."

Aylin nodded, refused Dagonet's hand and sat up on her own–albeit very slowly.

While Aylin oriented herself with her new position, Dagonet quietly asked Fulcinia to take Dominic to the tavern–where Lucan was acquainting himself with Vanora's children–in case there were any "grievous injuries that he shouldn't see."

The knight first checked her neck, which had a dark blue and black band around it now from the bruising, for any broken bones–luckily there were none.

Then he had Aylin lift her tunic. Dagonet hissed at the bruises and cuts that hadn't been there before she was arrested.

"They tore some of the stitches. I'll need to re-sew them," he said lowly.

Aylin waved a hand, telling him to do whatever he needed, when Arthur knocked on the open door and walked in.

The commander pulled a stool up next to the bed and asked how she was.

"I'm fine," she repeated.

Arthur looked at Dagonet to acquire an accurate report.

"She's got quite a bit more bruises and scrapes than yesterday, and a few popped stitches, but other than that, she's fine," the man replied.

"See?" Aylin croaked sarcastically.

The three were silent for a few minutes before Arthur spoke up.

"The bishop left late this morning," he said, standing from his seat.

Confused, Aylin asked, "Then why is Fulcinia–and I assume Alecto as well–still here?"

"Bennett–the officer who led your caravan–has stayed behind with preselected soldiers from the wall and from his own men. They will escort the Lady and her son back to Rome," Arthur stated after a brief hesitation.

Suspicious, Aylin replied, "Why would he stay behind? Why not keep all the Romans together on the journey back ?"

Arthur gave her a meaningful look, then left the room.

She glanced at Dagonet, but he was not looking at her. She yawned, resigned, knowing that whatever they had planned, she'd find out eventually.

oOoOoOoOo

When she next woke, Aylin took notice that the sun was no longer shining and that night had fallen, though how long ago, she did not know.

She also took notice of the presence she sensed, and looked at Tristan sitting on the same stool Arthur had sat upon earlier in the day.

Neither spoke, but much was said in the way they looked at each other.

Aylin sat up and pulled away the sheet that had tangled in her legs. And so they sat–he on the stool, she on the bed–facing one another with question in their eyes.

After a moment of deliberation, she moved and sat on his lap–straddling his legs and placing her arms around his neck.

They held gazes as their lips met. Aylin's lips parted easily to allow Tristan access.

For several minutes they discovered each other with tongue and hand–his hands moved from the sides of her knees to her waist and small of her back; she realized that his earlobes were very sensitive to the touch when she plowed her fingers into this hair and brushed the lobes with her thumbs.

Aylin leaned back and yanked Tristan's tunic over his head. Once his arms were free from the sleeves, he replaced them around her and began a wonderful torture on her neck–the light kisses soothing to the dark bruises.

Her fingers traced the scars that marked the corded muscles of his back and nibbled on his shoulder as he continued his assault.

After a few more moments, Tristan pulled away and returned the favor by ridding Aylin of her tunic.

With the cloth on the floor, he couldn't help but take in the full breasts, smooth tan skin, and... the bruises and cuts given her by Brutus and the scars that had been received long ago by enemies unknown to him.

Aylin watched his face as he watched her body and saw the anger show in his eyes and in his clenched fists. Placing her hands on either side of his face, Aylin drew his gaze to her own.

"Don't. Don't think about it. Not now." And kissed him.

Tristan did something then that he'd never let a woman–and almost anyone–do: take control.

Aylin explored his mouth with her tongue as her fingers rubbed across his chest and stomach.

But when her short nails scratched against his lower belly, Tristan decided that she'd controlled enough.

Growling, Tristan stood, holding Aylin to him with his hands on the underside of her thighs, and plopped them both down on the bed–his hard, lean body pressing her into the soft mattress.

His hands roamed all over her body, but were gentle when near her wound.

Soon, the rest of their clothes joined the tunics on the floor and flesh met flesh completely and to the full satisfaction of both.

Aylin felt him hard against her thigh and couldn't help but sigh in absolute pleasure. Not only did her body need this after so much hardship, but _she_ needed this.

When he entered her, they both groaned at the sensation. Aylin wrapped her legs around his waist to draw him in even further. Tristan didn't move right away, but payed close attention to her breasts, bringing them to his mouth and enjoying the purr that practically flew from her throat.

That sound alone elicited a lightning response from him. He withdrew and plunged back in, picking up a rhythm that drove them both wild until the pressure built to the breaking point.

They lay there entwined and spent for several minutes, before Tristan rolled to his back, keeping Aylin to his chest.

When their breathing and heart rates returned to normal, Aylin propped her chin on her fist and spoke.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything," she paused, "For what you did this morning. I don't like to say 'rescue' or 'save', but that's what you did."

After another pause, she whispered, "You know, I thought that Brutus had found some wench to keep him busy and that was why he didn't come back. But now I see what happened. So, thank you for that too."

She pulled herself forward and laid her lips upon his. And when she started to pull away, Tristan pulled her right back.

oOoOoOoOo

From the trees the fighters watched the roman soldiers escort the carriage. With a bird-like whistle, the captain signaled the ambush.

Blue warriors raced out from the coverage the forest had provided, catching the romans off-guard.

Despite their numbers, the Roman infantry was outnumbered by the Woads, which made for an easy battle.

When all the soldiers were dead or dying, the captain approached the carriage and–with the help of a few of his fighters–pulled the men from it.

While two of his men dealt with the small, squealing man, the captain himself took the pleasure of killing the bishop with one swipe of his axe.

With Germanus' head rolling on the ground, the captain said, "Alert Merlin. The deed is done."

**Wow, 13 pages! That's quite a lot for me, huh? I felt badly for leaving you guys hanging for over a month, so here was a nice, LONG chapter. I'm sorry to say that I can't guarantee a quick update after this–because semester exams are coming up–but I'll try my absolute best! Review please!**


	16. Keep Me Away

**Almost Had It All**

**Sorry, yet again for the delay. Once my exams were over, I just wanted to have a couple days where I didn't have to do anything (I'm sure you all know the feeling I'm talking about!), before I began writing the next chapter. Well, that was my plan–until I got sick. So, sorry again. Hopefully, you'll like the chapter.**

**Chapter Fourteen: Keep Me Away**

_You can not hide from me  
__I will be there  
__You say that we're nothing  
__I say you're scared_

_Do you know what I know  
__Do you even care  
__can you see what's coming baby  
__it's so crystal clear_

_And don't you know  
__this hurts me more than bleeding  
__And don't you know  
__I cannot fight this feeling  
__And don't you go  
__can you not hear me screaming  
__No, No_

_You say that you fear me  
__why do you lie  
__I say that you love me  
__must you deny_

_Do you know what I know  
__do you even care  
__can you see me coming baby  
__it's so crystal clear_

_And don't you know  
__this hurts me more than bleeding  
__And don't you know  
__I cannot fight this feeling  
__And don't you go  
__can you not hear me screaming_

_No, No_

_And I want you to miss me right now  
__and I want you to feel me somehow  
__And I want you to taste what you doubt  
__and I want you to want me too  
__and I want you to want me_

_And don't you know  
__this hurts me more than bleeding  
__And don't you know  
__I cannot fight this feeling  
__And don't you go  
__can you not hear me screaming  
__No, No_

_Shut up  
__you wanted me  
__shut up  
__you needed me  
_

_Shut up  
__you wanted me  
__Shut up  
__you care_

"_Bleeding" The Prom Kings_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Hadrian's Wall..._

Tristan's eyes popped open the next morning as Aylin shifted in her sleep next to him.

He lay on his stomach–she on her back–with his arm draped over her waist (avoiding her wound) and watched her in the early morning light.

Despite her injuries and vicious bruising, her beauty was obvious to him. Dark lashes curled against her cheeks. Black hair wild against the pillows. Tristan felt that tightening in his chest once again, and closed his eyes to it, refusing to think on what it might mean.

His eyes opened yet again to view her and the steady rise and fall of her naked chest with each breath she took. But that, of course, made Tristan close his eyes once more at the tightening in another certain part of his body.

How much he would love to have another round of their previous activities, but Tristan was loathe to wake her.

So, he slowly removed his arm and quietly got up from the bed and dressed.

With one last look at a sleeping Aylin, the scout left the room.

oOoOoOoOo

Half an hour later, when Aylin woke, she didn't know wether to be hurt or relieved that Tristan had gone without a word.

If he'd stayed, it would no doubt have been awkward–as neither of them had ever had much practice with intimacy outside of the physical aspect.

But part of her had wanted to wake up next to him. Maybe just to see what it was like.

"Just foolish thoughts," Aylin assured herself as she dressed in clean breeches and tunic.

Since she didn't feel like braiding her long dark tresses, Aylin left for the Meeting Hall as soon as she finished dressing with the loose curls falling down her back.

Aylin took her time in the hallways, looking out the windows when she came to them while rubbing her bruised throat softly.

When she finally entered the Hall, most of the knights were present–at least physically, as Galahad and Gawain still looked drunk from the night before–and currently shoveling food into their mouths at a quick pace.

Rolling her eyes in amused disgust, Aylin sat and nodded at the servant that approached with a plate of food.

Directly across from her sat Guinevere. The women shared a glare and Aylin was highly pleased when the woad looked away first.

Just as she lifted the spoon to her mouth for the first bite, the doors opened and Tristan walked to his seat.

When their gazes rested upon each other, Aylin gave a slight nod–one that she would give anyone–and resumed her eating.

Tristan watched Aylin after her blue eyes had moved away from him. He grabbed the apple from his own plate and cut into it, thinking on the indifferent look she had given him.

Breakfast continued on as normal, until the servants began to clear away some of the dishes. There was so loud a banging on the Hall doors that one maid almost dropped a goblet in surprise.

Bors quickly stood and opened the heavy door and thankfully helped Jols carry the large wooden box he was attempting balance in one arm.

The two men hauled the box over to Arthur and placed it with a loud thud on the table.

"Arthur, the men at the gate were given this and a letter by a messenger of Merlin," Jols stated quickly as he tried to catch his breath, "They said to read the missive first, then deal with the box."

Nodding, Arthur took the paper from the top of the box and read it aloud for his men to hear.

_Artorius Castus,_

_I received the message you sent me by my daughter. At first I was curious as to your request, but soon concluded that you have your reasons–if I am correct that deal with a newly come knight, by the name of Marsile, to your fort. _

_I am pleased that you and your knights are willing to work with my people in this matter, instead of against. We are moving our warriors to the forest's edge and will be ready by nightfall. _

_I am also pleased to inform you that your request was fulfilled just yesterday. Considering the circumstances of which I've become aware, I believe that Marsile would appreciate the contents of the accompanying package. _

_Merlin_

"What in the bloody hell does that mean? 'Ready by nightfall'?" Bors questioned in his loud, gravelly tone.

"It means, Bors, that it is inevitable that the Saxons will come to the fort. I simply inquired if Merlin planned to do anything about it," Arthur answered vaguely.

"I for one, want to see what is in the box. Go open it, Aylin," Galahad urged, seemingly pulled from his hangover by this recent development.

Aylin stood and moved to the box. She paused only a moment before she slid open the latch and lifted the lid slightly.

As she peered in at the contents, Aylin felt a grin form on her lips. It wasn't the joking sort of grin, more so of a malicious, proud sort.

She softly dropped the lid back into place. With her hand still rested upon it, she turned to Arthur and gave him a grateful nod, then left the Hall.

Now curious beyond all reasonable doubt, Galahad rushed to the box and yanked the lid off.

His brown eyes widened and his jaw dropped. The others crowded around him and also looked inside.

There, laying on a small pallet of leather, were the heads of none other than Bishop Germanus and his annoying secretary, Horton.

oOoOoOoOo

As soon as she was outside of the Hall, the blood thirsty grin fell off of Aylin's face. She quickly retraced her earlier steps back to her room–locking the door behind her–and promptly vomited into the basin in the corner of the room.

Aylin sat there on the floor, her back resting on the wall, and wiped the blood from her mouth with her sleeve. She was so used to her own blood that it didn't even faze her.

It wasn't the sight of severed heads that made her sick, but the relief that hit her when she saw the two lifeless pair of eyes.

And it wasn't so much relief for herself, that was for damn sure. But with those particular deaths, Aylin knew that her enemies in Rome would go on completely oblivious to a certain part of her: Dominic.

She had already made her decision about what to do with herself. Now, Aylin wouldn't need to worry about what might happen to him when she wasn't near him.

When her head stopped spinning, Aylin stood from the floor on shaky feet and sat down at the table.

Gathering the materials that were within reach–parchment, ink, quill, and a candle–Aylin began writing.

oOoOoOoOo

Tristan waited until the others had finished questioning Arthur, then went on his own way as the rest went to the courtyard and stables.

He walked the corridors with a purpose, and the maids jumped out of his way to avoid being trampled.

When Tristan came to the door, he didn't bother to knock, but immediately started to open it... Only to find it firmly locked to intruders.

"Open this door, Aylin," he growled, banging on the frame for emphasis.

When he got no answer and the door remained closed, the scout kicked at it before moving back a few feet. Tristan then rammed the door with his body and the force of the impact caused the latch to give way.

"Bloody latch is rotten, don't know why she bothered," he muttered under his breath.

He looked up and saw that Aylin stood by the table, hands on her hips, glaring at him in a way that, had he been anyone else, would have him shaking in his boots.

"Damn it, Tristan! What the hell do you think you are doing?" Aylin shouted.

The scout didn't answer, but he did turn and close the now somewhat splintered door. When he faced her again, she hadn't moved and her eyes demanded an answer.

"What do you want, Tristan?"Aylin asked on a sigh.

He stepped up to her until they were merely centimeters apart and watched her eyes flicker they way they had the night before.

"I wanted to make sure that the look you gave me earlier was just for show," he said lowly, twining his fingers in her loose hair.

Aylin closed her eyes, hoping to shut it all out. Tristan noticed, and lightly tugged on a curl.

"Don't do that," he said when she opened her eyes, and pulled her lips to his.

They stood there for several minutes, getting impossibly lost in each other before Aylin pulled back.

"I can't do this," she said firmly, turning away. Aylin sat back at the table and dripped wax from the candle onto the parchment to seal it. Tristan saw that there was one other letter that was already sealed.

"You aren't going to shut me out, Aylin, like I assume you did to all the others. I won't let you, and I sure as hell don't intend to keep away from you," he said and then left.

oOoOoOoOo

Once she was relatively composed after her last run in with Tristan, Aylin left the sanctuary of her room to seek out the Roman captain, Bennett.

Luckily, it didn't take her long to find him, as he was in the courtyard organizing the supplies that would be needed for departure.

"Captain," Aylin said loudly, as to be heard over the din of the soldiers and peasants.

Bennett turned and smiled when he saw Aylin.

Nodding toward the alley behind the jail, she gestured for him to follow.

"I have a favor to ask of you," she said bluntly, when they were in the quiet.

"Whatever it is, I will surely do," he replied easily.

Aylin smiled at his ability to help others, it was one she certainly hadn't acquired in her lifetime.

"I would like you to deliver this to an old friend when you return to Rome," she said, holding out a sealed letter.

Bennett took it and glanced down at the writing.

_Cornelius, son of Gattus_

_General of the Eastern Legions_

Confused, Bennett shook his head and asked, "Are you not coming back with us? Arthur informed me that the knights were accompanying us to a certain point before continuing on to Sarmatia."

"No," Aylin whispered, "You and I both know that there _is_ no Sarmatia left to return to. And I definitely cannot go back to Rome. I would have you spread word that I was killed along with the Bishop in the Woad attack."

"But–"

"You will. Promise me that you will, otherwise I'll never have any peace... and neither will my son," Aylin said in a tone that brooked no argument.

When Bennett nodded his acquiescence, she added, "And make sure that Cornelius gets that letter. It explains everything."

Aylin clapped Bennett on the shoulder with a whispered "Thank You" and left the alley.

She had one more letter to give.

oOoOoOoOo

By the time Aylin pushed through the crowds in the fort and reached the tavern, Vanora and the bar wenches were just cleaning up after the noontime rush.

Looking about, Aylin spotted Vanora wiping down a table in the far corner and walked over to her.

"Hey Vanora," she said lightly, as she knew the woman could pick up on dark moods.

"Oh, 'ello Aylin," the red head replied.

"I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute."

Vanora stopped her cleaning and looked up at the woman in front of her. She could tell that Aylin had much on her mind and was trying her best to keep it hidden. So, she decided to play none-the-wiser.

"Sure, it'd be nice to put me feet up for once–what with the kiddies being looked after by someone other than me for a change," she replied, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Aylin to sit as well.

"Well, I have a huge favor to ask of you," Aylin said slowly.

oOoOoOoOo

Aylin decided, after the draining hour with Vanora, that a visit to Artay was in order since she hadn't seen him in a few days.

At this time of day, the stables were empty–as most were eating or off finishing the jobs that needed to be done by sunset–which suited Aylin fine.

She approached Artay's stall in the back, but paused as a soft voice reached her ears.

"Would you like some oats, Artay," a shy voice whispered.

Aylin peered over the stall gate and watched the back of Dominic's dark, unruly head as he hesitantly held out a handful of oats.

She continued to watch as her horse greedily nibbled the oats from the boy's hand, as he watched in wonder.

"He likes apples, as well," Aylin said, breaking through the silence.

Dominic started and spun around; Artay giving a ruffled neigh at the loss of his food source.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother him, I just wanted to–" he began, only to be cut off at Aylin's raised hand.

"I do not mind. I'm sure Artay here has been wanting for some good snacks since I've been unable to visit."

Dominic's face reddened and his eyes dropped to the straw floor.

"You know, I could give you a riding lesson? You are alright seating a horse, but not great–which is unsurprising, considering your lack of instruction. But you are Sarmatian, and need to ride as such," Aylin stated haltingly.

The boy's eyes lit up at the offer and he nodded eagerly.

Aylin opened the gate and gripped the lead rope on Artay's bridle, bringing the stallion to the center of the stable and tying him to the rail.

Turning to Dominic, she ordered, "Alright, now go get his tack and I'll show you how to put it on."

The boy scampered off in a hurry to the tack room, but his return was a bit slower under the weight of the heavy saddle and blanket.

Aylin relieved him of the saddle and placed it on a post.

"Now, grab that stool there and bring it over."

He did.

"Step up and I'll hand you the blanket... No, no, further up on his back. Like this. That way, it won't slide back when you're riding."

Next, she heaved the saddle up, and showed him where to position it on the horse's back.

"Now, check the girth to make sure it's secure... Good."

Aylin gave him a boost onto the horse, and paused for a moment while her wound finished complaining.

"All right, now remember what I said about giving him his head? Good. Grab hold of the reigns. You know how to direct him, don't you? Okay. I'll hold onto the lead rope and get you going in a walk and will make our way up from there."

And so the lesson continued for a few hours. Dominic progressed from a walk to a trot and eventually to a light canter. Galloping, she had told him, would come in later.

Aylin showed him how to properly remove the tack and replace it on the hooks in the tack room, and then the horse's care after exercise: washing, brushing and checking the hooves.

Aylin knelt down to the boy's level as Dominic cleaned his last shoe, making sure he had done it correctly.

"Good, good. You're all done," she said, looking at his face.

Dominic eyes flickered over her face for a moment, before he thanked her.

Aylin glanced outside, taking note of the darkening sky.

"You'd better go on. I'm sure Vanora will have supper ready for you, Lucan and the others."

He nodded and ran out of the stables, thanking her again over his shoulder as he went.

Aylin laughed slightly, and scratched Artay behind the ears.

oOoOoOoOo

She grabbed some bread and cheese from the kitchens and ate it on her way to the tavern.

After being cooped up for the past couple days–in a cell and her room, respectively–it would be nice to have a couple of drinks with the knights.

And it was. Gawain and Galahad kept her amused with their antics. She would merely share a smirk with Dagonet when Bors began a belching contest.

The only lull in laughter on Aylin's part came when she spotted Arthur and Guinevere headed for the fort. She looked at Lancelot, who had obviously seen the pair as well. When his eyes met hers, she smiled and shrugged her shoulders–the nonverbal "I told you so".

All in all, the men seemed happy at the prospect of leaving for home the next morning. Aylin didn't have the heart to tell them the state of their homeland.

Tristan, on the other hand, acted as he always did. Drinking quietly at the table, with the occasional sentence when he felt like speaking.

The two stared at each other for a while; no one seemed to notice.

Aylin was just about to leave for her room, knowing he would follow, when a soldier came running in shouting in frightened Latin.

Deciphering the man's jumbled words, Aylin raced to the wall and up the steps to look out to the North.

"Bloody hell," she whispered, overlooking the thousands of campfires, signaling the arrival of the Saxon army.

oOoOoOoOo

Aylin and the knights stood atop the wall, waiting on Jols to return with Arthur.

"At least they didn't get here yesterday," Galahad said.

Aylin merely shook her head, looked away from the camp and watched Arthur run up the steps, Guinevere trailing behind looking thoroughly pissed at the interruption.

"What is–" He began, but stopped himself when he saw the fires.

He looked at each knight, before voicing the choice he'd made days ago.

"Knights, I leave you now." And then Arthur left the parapet, Lancelot following yet again in hopes to convince him otherwise.

Guinevere made to go after them, but Aylin blocked her way.

"Let me by,"Guinevere yelled.

"No. It is between them. They were friends long before you or me got here and they'll be friends long after we leave. I won't let you interfere with that," Aylin replied calmly.

"I'm not interfering with anything!" Guinevere growled and attempted to push Aylin out of the way.

But Aylin wasn't going to take any shit from the woad and shoved her back against the wall; the knights watched on in silent wonder.

"I've told you this once and I'll tell you again. Woman to woman, I know what you're doing. I'm pretty sure your father told you to get close to one of them in hopes of an alliance. Your problem is that you're too selfish and greedy to pick one," she paused to slam her back when Guinevere tried to move, "I will not see a whore such as you ruin the comraderie of these men with your scheming. We all see, now stop it."

Aylin stepped back and allowed Guinevere to rush past her. She followed the woad's steps with her eyes and was glad to see that Guinevere was going the opposite direction of Arthur and Lancelot.

Eventually, after watching the Saxons for a while, the knights returned to their rooms to rest up for the departure.

Tristan stopped Aylin and pressed her up against the wall once all the other doors were closed. He plunged his tongue past her lips and ravaged her mouth until they were both breathless.

"I think... I think we should continue this in your room, since you seem to have broken the door to mine," Aylin whispered against his ear, and laughed softly as he grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall to his room.

**Well, I hope you liked it. I'm sure you can tell that I'm not a big fan of Guinevere. Though I love Keira Knightley, I hated the character of Guinevere–I thought she was too manipulative. **

**I need your opinion guys: What should I do with Guinevere? Kill her off in the final battle? Allow her to continue living?**

**Please, please let me know what you would like. Right now, I just don't know what to do with her.**

**REVIEW!**


	17. Almost Had It All

**Almost Had It All**

**AN: All right, guys. This is the last chapter, which will be followed by an epilogue. I hope you like it!**

**Chapter Fifteen: Almost Had It All**

I never thought it'd be possible to find someone again  
I searched long and hard for someone I didn't know  
Instead of my best friend

_Now I have her in my arms and I've been trying to say  
Those three words won't come out right  
So I'll just say _

You take me to  
A place with you  
That only I feel safe to say  
That I'm in love with you

In your arms feels like no harm  
Could be done to me  
The way your chin rests on my head  
Your love it captures me

Every second of the day I wish  
To spend it with you  
Now I know the reason I never loved before  
Was to save all my love for you

_You take me to  
A place with you  
That only I feel safe to say  
That I'm in love with you  
So don't go away  
I need you to stay  
To hear me say that I'm in love with you_

_You take me to  
__A place with you  
__That only I feel safe to say  
__That I'm in love with you_

_You take me to  
__A place with you  
__That only I feel safe to say  
__That I'm in love with you_

"_Utopia" Socialburn_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Hadrian's Wall..._

The sun hadn't even begun to rise in the early morning sky when Aylin woke the next morning. It took her a few moments to realize where she was and who was lying next to her.

She was slightly surprised to see that Tristan was still sleeping. But it faded away as Aylin took the opportunity to observe the mysterious scout without his knowledge–an impossible feat were he awake.

Their legs were tangled, his arms around her (tight, even in sleep), her head on his shoulder and her face snuggled into his neck. But she could see, when she looked up, that his face was relaxed and she could feel his breathing, steady and slow, against her side.

Aylin moved her head back slightly, and studied the tattoos that graced his cheekbones. The dark symbols only further reminded Aylin that he was returning home, along with the other men she had come to respect and admire as good men, good knights, and good friends.

She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again, they were gazing directly into Tristan's.

They were two warriors, had both suffered much at the hands of Rome, and had spent most of their time killing, but at that moment, as they stared at each other, they were merely a man and a woman.

"You're not coming." It was a statement, not a question.

"No," she replied. "I can't, and you know why. Plus, someone has to stay to make sure Arthur doesn't get himself killed." She'd tried to say it lightly.

"Plus, there isn't a home like we remember to return to, we both know it. I think the others do as well, but–like Galahad–don't want to admit it. I know how he feels–eager to go back and try to forget it all happened–as I was the same way, though that was several years ago."

"Galahad has never accepted what is our lives," Tristan said.

"Part of him shouldn't have to. No one should ever have to accept enslavement," Aylin whispered.

They remained quiet, both knowing that anything talked about was said only to keep from saying what was needed. Instead, Tristan rolled over, pressing Aylin into the bed. She pulled him down to press her lips to his. As he slipped into her, Aylin couldn't help but think that this is what she wanted, to wake up to this every morning.

It's too bad that you can't always get what you want.

oOoOoOoOo

When Aylin walked into the Meeting Hall to find Arthur–dressed in full armor, with his helmet on the table next to him–poring over maps, the sun had already begun its ascent into the sky.

"How long have you been in here, Arthur?" Aylin asked, slightly worried that he would say 'A fair time' or something similar.

"Since just before dawn," the commander replied, briefly glancing up at her before returning his attention to the maps.

Aylin, glad he hadn't been there all night, walked to him and looked at the maps over his shoulder.

He had little squares of black wood grouped where the southern woods were and red squares north of the wall, where the Saxon army was currently camped.

"What is our strategy?" She queried.

Arthur paused, then looked sharply at her. " 'Our'?"

"I'm staying here. You really don't expect me to leave you with a few peasants with no training, do you? Anyway, where would I go? I don't have any papers to get me through if I'm stopped by soldiers."

Arthur looked at her and saw determination.

"Merlin and his people will be here," he pointed to the black squares. "They will have catapults to ignite fires to the oil we'll have placed on the hill. We'll open the gate to let the Saxons in. They won't see the Woads, just smoke, so once their confused, we'll attack."

They spent the next fifteen minutes or so going over the plans. When Aylin heard about Guinevere's involvement in the upcoming battle, she couldn't hold in the disgusted snort. Arthur merely glanced at her. By now, he had become used to the women's hatred and accepted that they would never get along in the foreseeable future.

The two were about to leave the Hall, when Aylin stopped.

"Arthur?"

He looked back at her, confused. "What is it?"

"The request Merlin mentioned in his missive... I never thanked you for it," Aylin didn't say anymore, as she knew that Arthur arranging the murder of a member of the Roman Church was a subject he didn't wish to discuss.

The commander nodded, but did not say anything about the murder. They resumed their walk to the courtyard, where the knights were preparing their horses.

The plan was to get Lady Honorius, Alecto, and some of the peasants away from the wall, escorted of course, by Bennett and his soldiers, and the knights themselves.

Aylin knew that the goodbye would be difficult. Not only because she was saying it to Tristan, Dagonet and the others, but because Dominic was currently in the wagon with Lucan, Vanora and her children.

"How to explain this to him," she mused silently, walking into the stables and away from the wagon.

The men were in the stalls, tacking their horses, and for a moment, Aylin was brought back to their preparations, before leaving for the Honorius estate. Of course, then she hadn't known the identity of their 'rescuees'. But some part of her wished that she had gone back. Before she'd known that her son was there, before she'd learned of Germanus' plan, before she'd gotten involved with Tristan.

Because, before all of that, Dominic hadn't known her (thereby sparing him the disappointment), Aylin had planned on returning to old life (perhaps she could've spent more time in Greece), and she certainly wouldn't have these unexplained tugs in her chest just thinking about that damn scout.

It's too bad that you can't always get what you want.

She silently retrieved Artay's tack and set about prepping the warhorse. Unlike Arthur's white stallion, Artay had no mail. The commander's horse had been trained with such armor, while Artay had no such experience and Aylin didn't wish to confuse her horse by making such a change before a battle.

She took her time putting the bridle on, dragging out the duty until the other men had left the stable and just she and Tristan remained.

Aylin moved until she just behind him, but he didn't acknowledge her and stayed focused on the saddle of his dappled gray.

She had about resigned herself to being ignored when Tristan spoke, his back still to her. "You don't need to stay, you realize that don't you?"

Aylin sighed. "I thought I already told you this. If I leave without papers, I'll–"

"Don't say that! You know that I would protect you!" He cut her off with a harsh whisper, turning to her now, his eyes blazing.

"You must not remember what I told you! You know what that physician told me before I left Rome," she retorted back.

Tristan didn't say anything. He did remember, but he'd almost forgotten. Aylin had been good at hiding her weaknesses before she'd met the knights, but she'd gotten better since.

"I don't want to wait for that to happen. So I'm going to do what I do best... killing. And there's no better opportunity than the army right outside these walls."

She walked up to him and placed a hand on his cheek.

"You have a chance to go home, something that has passed me by many times. Go, live out your freedom."

They were both too stubborn and wary to say anything else.

oOoOoOoOo

Arthur hadn't stayed to see them off Aylin noticed. He'd said his farewells, ignored the pleading look in Lancelot's eyes and ridden off to the Hill, the lone banner he held a very solemn symbol of his heritage and determination.

Aylin sat atop Artay near the knights, as the group watched the soldiers and refugees began to leave the fort and head south. Aylin caught Bennett's eyes with her own as he rode past. His grim nod assured her that he remembered her request.

The wagon carrying Vanora, her bastards, Lucan and Dominic had just passed by and the knights about to follow, when Aylin spoke up.

"I hadn't known how much I had missed the company of my own countrymen until I came to this bloody island. It was has been... a pleasure to know you all. I hope your journey is a safe one."

The men looked surprised, with the exception of a quiet Tristan and an understanding Dagonet.

"Goodbye," she said and received the words back from the stunned knights. She kept her gaze on Tristan, who attempted to avoid her eyes, but then looked up at her. It was a further reminder that, with them, things were communicated through the eyes, and everything that hadn't been said came through loud and clear.

She looked at Dagonet and said in a low voice, "Say goodbye to him for me?"

Dagonet, the man who had become such a friend to her, nodded and Aylin gripped the reins and pulled Artay around.

oOoOoOoOo

Dominic watched the exchange from the wagon while his stomach twisted and knotted. His panic only increased as Aylin turned around her black stallion and began to ride back to the Hill.

He ignored Vanora's yelp of surprise as he leaped from the slow moving wagon and ran after him mother. The knights looked at Dominic with pity as the boy ran past them.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?" He yelled to her back.

When she didn't turn around, Dominic stopped running and merely stared after her.

"Why are you leaving again?" He sobbed, falling to his knees and watching Aylin ride off through tear-filled eyes, her eyes.

His fear and sadness evoked an anger in Dominic. "Why wasn't she listening to him?" He asked himself.

"I hate you!" He yelled, standing once again, his cheeks wet. "I HATE YOU!" He screamed.

His heart knew that he didn't mean it, but his head was hoping that she would hear it, and come back.

But she didn't, and Dominic gave in to the new tears welling up that hampered his view. He didn't even seem to really notice when Dagonet rode up, bent down and pulled him onto his horse.

And he didn't seem to care as he was passed to Vanora and laid down on a blanket in the wagon. All he could think about was the fact that, now that he'd finally met her, his mother was leaving him yet again.

oOoOoOoOo

When Aylin finally reached the top of Badon Hill and joined Arthur, he noticed that her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. The sight shocked him, as he had never seen Aylin show much emotion. He had heard Dominic's words from all the way up on the Hill, so he knew for certain that she had heard them as well. But he wisely chose to say nothing about it.

"I have seen the white flag. It seems that the Saxon leader wishes to have a few words Perhaps he has terms," Arthur stated.

"You're not going down there by yourself. It's stupid to risk yourself that way. It could be a trap. I'm coming with you," she replied in a tone that said she wouldn't have it another way.

They waited until those leaving were out of sight, then went down to the gate and slowly made their way to the Saxon leader, waiting alone and away from his army.

Aylin stayed back, allowing Arthur to speak with the leader, Cerdic, alone. She had no desire to discuss terms with the barbarian leader and had come only as backup in case Arthur was attacked.

The talk did not last long, as the men growled and spat at each other. "So much for terms," Aylin thought wryly as she and Arthur rode back through the gate.

oOoOoOoOo

The men were silent as their horses clomped along with the caravan. Knowing that they had left their commander, Arthur, and their comrade, Aylin, behind to die a certain death while they rode off to freedom, did not sit well with any of them.

So when the Saxon war drums echoed through the sky, and their horses refused to walk further, the knights knew what needed to be done. Weapons were gathered, and horses armored. Tristan released his hawk, and Bors gave his farewells to his worried lover and children.

It did not take long for the men to cover the ground back to the Wall and the sight of two figures on horseback at the peak of Badon Hill was a comforting sight.

It meant that it hadn't begun yet. That they had been in time.

The Sarmatian Knights of Hadrian's Wall would fight once again.

oOoOoOoOo

The din of battle was deafening. Every where Aylin looked, Saxon and Briton were engaged in a fight for life. She couldn't remember how long ago it had started–probably less than an hour–but it seemed as if she'd been fighting this war her whole life. She'd lost count of the men she'd killed, and truly, did not want to know the number.

The wound in her side had split and her side was soaked with hot, red blood. There was a crossbow bolt in her right forearm that forced her to use her left hand for the sword.

She was the most tired she'd ever felt. Her hair, whipping into her face with the wind, had long ago come undone of the tight braid she'd tied it into.

She caught glimpses of the knights every once in a while. And though injured, she at least knew that they lived.

There were some close calls that she'd noticed. Tristan was still moving slowly after his encounter with Cerdic. (Aylin thanked every god that would listen that Arthur had aided the scout.) Gawain had been hit with a bolt, but it didn't look serious.

Aylin had given slight pause when she sighted a painted Guinevere falling heavily under a backhanded blow from a large Saxon with a bald head and braided beard. She'd briefly thought about going to help the Woad, but decided that if she did, it wouldn't be appreciated, so Aylin left that alone.

Her attention was harshly stolen by a stocky blonde, swinging his battle ax in one hand at her stomach. Jumping back to dodge the blow, Aylin brought up her sword to block the blade in the man's other hand. The impact reverberated throughout her body in icy shockwaves of pain. His blade slid off of hers and bit down into her thigh.

Crying out in pain, Aylin didn't move quick enough as the Saxon grabbed her injured arm and twisted the bolt, taking advantage of her openness with a hit to her stomach with the blunt tip of his ax.

Pleased with the hit, the Saxon didn't notice the knife in his gut until Aylin had wrenched it at a fatal angle.

Fighting off the agony in her thigh, Aylin clamped a hand on the large gash in effort to staunch the bleeding. Looking across the field to see if there were any other foes coming her way, Aylin met the gaze of none other than Tristan through the smokey haze.

oOoOoOoOo

Tristan had to force himself not to grip his side, because he knew that would make the wound all the more real. He wasn't sure how it had happened... He'd thought he was focused entirely on the Saxon in front of him, but he had still been injured. And as much as it stuck in his caw, if Arthur hadn't stepped in, he would have been finished.

He slashed his way through some more Saxons, while trying to avoid Woads. After fifteen years of fighting the blue natives, Tristan had had to stop himself from killing them in this particular battle–though one unlucky fellow had met an unfortunate end by being the first thing the scout had seen after beheading a Saxon brute.

He could tell that the clash was coming to a bloody end–the field that had earlier been filled with soldiers and Woads and the occasional flash of Sarmatian Knight, was now a mass of bodies, both painted and unpainted.

But through the screams and clanging of weapons, Tristan's ears picked up on the sound that he hadn't wanted to hear.

Aylin crying out in pain.

His eyes found her through the smoke and saw her sweaty, bloody and tired as she pushed the stabbed Saxon away from her. Saw her grab her leg and the blood seep between her fingers.

Saw the agony in her eyes as they met his across the field.

And... He saw the enormous Saxon coming up behind her, spear in hand.

oOoOoOoOo

Aylin noticed something on Tristan's face that she'd never seen before... Fear. But fear for who? She didn't even have time to think the question before she heard the loud breathing behind her.

She whirled around in time to take a spear in the gut rather than the back. Gasping for breath, Aylin looked down at the staff protruding from her stomach in shock. Her sword fell to the ground in a muted thump.

Grinning, the Saxon pushed on the spear, shoving Aylin backwards, tripping her up on the man she'd just killed until she fell to the ground. He pressed further on the spear, tunneling it into the ground beneath her, pinning her. When he was positive she wasn't going to move, the Saxon grabbed hold of the staff and broke it, earning a weak cry from Aylin.

Coughing and feeling the blood flow from the corner of her mouth, Aylin looked up at the man above her. She made a feeble attempt to reach for her sword, but the Saxon stepped on her hand and she was sure she heard bones crack.

And the man had the gall to pick up her own sword–_her_ sword–and raise it above his head for the death blow.

Aylin wasn't sure how he had gotten there so quick, but the sight of Tristan's sword through the man's throat was about the greatest one she'd ever had the privilege of seeing.

Shoving the corpse away from them, Tristan quickly knelt and grasped Aylin's face between his hands.

"Keep your eyes open. Damn it, keep them open!" He shouted at Aylin as her lids began to lower.

When she did as he said, Tristan noticed how large her pupils were, almost hiding the ice blue of the irises. And, he noticed the tears slipping from the corners.

"Yo–You saved my ass..." she whispered with a grimace. "Bastard was goin' use my own damn sword..." She was shivering now. He wiped the blood from her mouth.

"You're going to be fine. Just hold on," he said, trying to be firm, but his voice quivered slightly.

She shook her head slowly. She motioned him closer and leaned down, their cheeks nearly touching.

"We almost had it, didn't we?" Aylin whispered.

Tristan pressed his eyes closed and buried his face in her hair. Then he heard it. That final breath, more of a rattle.

Pulling back, Tristan found himself looking into empty blue eyes and felt tears come to his own.

oOoOoOoOo

Arthur was immensely relieved to see his knights walk up to him as the last of the Saxon army was being finished off. They were bloody to be sure, but they were alive.

"Has anyone seen Tristan or Aylin?" Dagonet asked, a new gash on his cheek to join the scar.

The men shook their heads no and began to search the field. They didn't find Tristan and Aylin–alive or dead–in the area around them, but they did find the body of Guinevere, her lifeless hand clutching the bolt in her chest. Arthur stared at her body for a moment, saying goodbye.

"Arthur!" Galahad shouted, pointing to the sky.

The commander looked up and saw the circling of Tristan's hawk across the field. The knights took it as a sign and sprinted as best they could to the area.

They came to an abrupt stop when the horrible sight came into view. The ground was saturated with blood, puddled in some places. And in the center of the lake was Tristan, Aylin's head in his lap, her glassy, lifeless eyes gazing upwards to the heavens.

"Oh, God," Arthur breathed, and his knights–who before this point had never said a word to God–couldn't help but agree.

oOoOoOoOo

"How can you be so cold one moment, then filled with warmth the next," Aylin asked herself, opening her eyes, expecting to see a cold, bloody field.

But what she did see was the last thing she'd expected.

A sunny sky, yellow fields of grass hip-high, and a solid stone wall with a large door.

"Where the bloody hell am I?" She asked aloud.

"My, my. What language from my baby sister's mouth."

Aylin froze. She knew that voice, though it had been eighteen years since she last heard it and it had gotten deeper in its absence. Turning slowly, she came around to face the owner of the voice.

Standing a few feet away from her was tall man, dark-haired and blue eyed.

"Kavan?" She whispered.

"Well, who else were you expecting? I've been waiting for you a while now, you know," he said in that way only he could.

She ran to him as she had eighteen years ago and was immediately enveloped in a crushing embrace–she barely noticed that her once broken body felt no pain.

"I've worried about you for so long," he muttered into her hair. "I had nightmares about that night for years afterward. I'd needed to know what happened to you, but wanted to never find out. I don't think I could have handled it."

Aylin pulled back from her brother. "It over now."

He nodded. "Come, they're waiting for us." He pulled her by the hand closer to the door. "Who is waiting."

He stopped at the door and began to fiddle with the rusty handle. "Mama and Papa, of course."

Aylin's heart pounded at the thought of seeing them again. Her heart hadn't felt like that since...

Tristan.

Looking back, Aylin saw only yellow hills. Nothing that she would find on the battlefield of Badon Hill. Rubbing the area above her heart, Aylin smiled slightly and whispered, "Goodbye Tristan."

Her brother whooped with accomplishment as the door swung open. "Come, Aylin. They're waiting."

She stared at the hills for a few moments and somewhere, deep inside her, past the hurt of leaving the one man who she'd found herself falling for, Aylin knew that things would turn out all right.

"Come on, Aylin!" Kavan said in the same exasperated voice he'd used when they were little.

Smiling, she turned and walked through the door, shutting it softly behind her.

**All right, you guys don't kill me! I knew from the beginning how this story was going to end–I mean the title should have been a dead giveaway that it wasn't going to be a happy ending. Plus, if you guys read close enough in one of the earlier chapters, Aylin revealed that she was dying slowly from long-term _Morpheus_ use. **

**Anyway, there will be an epilogue after this, dealing with Dominic and Cornelius' reactions to the news.**

**REVIEW! And Happy New Year! 2006!**


	18. Epilogue

**Almost Had It All**

**I'm sorry you guys! I know some of you are shocked that I killed off Aylin, but it was going to happen no matter what! Like I said at the end of last chapter: she was_ dying_! And Aylin isn't the type of character to sit around, getting weaker and weaker, just to die from illness. So the only other option was to stay and fight in the last battle. If you've forgotten the part of the story where her illness is spoken of (which is totally my fault, for not posting soon enough and keeping you up-to-date), it's in Chapter Ten: Birth to Memories.**

**Epilogue:**

_Now it seems I'm fading  
All my dreams are not worth saving  
I've done my share of waiting  
And I've still got nowhere else to go  
So I wait for you to  
Take me all the way  
Take me all the way _

Seems you're wanting me to stay  
But my dreams would surely waste away  
And I still have nowhere else to go  
So I wait for you to  
Take me all the way  
Take me all the way

Push me under  
Pull me further  
Take me all the way  
Take me all the way

Push me under  
Pull me further  
Take me all the way  
Take me all the way

Now it seems you're leaving  
But we've only just begun  
And you've still got nowhere else to go  
So I wait for you to  
Take me all the way  
Take me all the way

Push me under  
Pull me further  
Take me all the wayTake me all the way

Push me under  
Pull me further  
Take me all the way  
Take me all the way

And I've been waiting so long  
And I've been waiting so long  
And I've been waiting so long

So I wait for you to  
Take me all the way

Push me under  
Pull me further  
Take me all the way  
Take me all the way

Push me under  
Pull me further  
Take me all the way  
Take me all the way

And I've been waiting so long  
And I've been waiting so long  
And I've been waiting so long

So I wait for you to  
Take me all the way  
Take me all the way

"_Take me Under" Three Days Grace_

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

470 A.D.

_Hadrian's Wall..._

Though it had been a month since the battle on Badon Hill, loss was still an emotion deeply felt within the Wall's inhabitants. The peasants had returned, along with Vanora and her children, which made Bors happy, though his plans for governor seemed unimportant now.

Vanora had spent the majority of the month watching over Dominic. The poor boy was grief-stricken when the news had reached them. Ganis, one of the former serfs who had stayed to fight, had been sent to give word to the caravan and had escorted the people wishing to return back to the Wall.

The environment had been sober and depressed, despite the recent victory, Vanora had noticed. At first, she had attributed it only to the burning piles of dead bodies. After all, when they'd entered the courtyard, the men had been standing there to meet them. It'd only taken her a moment to realize that one knight was missing.

Aylin.

One look in Bors eyes, and she'd known what had happened. She didn't need to see the covered cart near them to know what it held. Bors had merely wrapped his arms around her as the tears had begun to fall.

Dominic had remained withdrawn, even more so after Aylin's burial on Badon Hill, her grave next to her brother's.

And the people who had come to know the young woman behind 'Marsile' mourned.

oOoOoOoOo

Dominic sat on the grass and looked out on the field, the sun setting on the horizon. He knew this was the one place that he could go and no one would bother him. They didn't, because they felt it would be intruding.

He moved his gaze to the hilt of the sword–his mother's sword–and felt hot tears well up in his eyes once more. He was so tired of crying, so tired of feeling alone.

He blamed himself, of course. He had told her he hated her. He'd known then that he hadn't meant it, had planned on apologizing the next time he saw her. He hadn't thought it would be the last thing he said to her.

Dominic stayed until the sun had set, then made his way home. He knew that Vanora–who looked after he and Lucan like her own children–would want him there _on time_ for supper.

He sat at the table long after the other kids had finished, picking at his food. He could hear the low voices of Vanora and Bors in the other room.

"What are ye talkin' 'bout, Van?"

"She gave me a letter to give 'im. But, I'd forgotten all 'bout it, what with the burial and all," Vanora replied softly. At mention of the burial, Dominic payed closed attention.

"What does it say?" Bors asked.

"I don't know. She didn't tell me and you know I can't read Latin!" Van retort in an exasperated tone.

"Alrigh', Alrigh'. We'll take the damn thing to Arthur and he can read it to the lad."

"Do ya think, 'e would do it now? I feel 'orrible not rememberin' it 'til now."

"Yeah, I'm sure he would. Grab the letter and get the boy, we'll go now," Bors said.

Dominic saw Vanora poke her head into the room and spot him at the table.

"O, good, you're still 'ere! Come on, Dominic. We need to go talk with Arthur."

The boy stood from the table and slowly followed the couple out of the house and into the fort. Bors asked one of the maids if she would tell Arthur to leave his bloody maps and get his arse down to the Meeting Hall.

The maid blushed and hurried off to do Bors' bidding, though Dominic suspected that she would use a gentler fashion when passing on the message to the future king. It was one of the only things that amused the boy nowadays, this joking banter between the men and their former commander. Despite, the people of Briton's petition for Arthur as King–and the man's hesitant agreement after a long talk with his friends and Merlin–the fellowship between Arthur and the knights was as strong as ever.

The trio waited at the Round Table for only a few minutes before Arthur strode in. Before the large doors to the Hall were shut, Dominic saw the scout, Tristan, walk past. Though he'd never really spoken to the man, Dominic felt some sort of connection to him. Only the man didn't look at him. When he'd asked Vanora about it, she told him that 'perhaps he sees much of your mother in you. It hurts him to see it.' He hadn't quite understood what she meant then, but over the past couple of weeks, Dominic had begun to realize. He'd seen Tristan out by her grave some mornings, just standing there, staring in some sort of daze.

Dominic was pulled from his thoughts when Arthur asked him a question and he realized that they'd already discussed the letter.

"Would you like me to read the letter for you, Dominic?" He asked again.

Arthur sat in one of the chairs and took the parchment Vanora handed him. Breaking the wax seal, Arthur gave one last glance at the others before opening the letter. Sighing softly, he began to read.

_Dominic,_

_I write this letter in hopes that, one day, you might understand why I did things the way I did. To do that, you need to know some things about my life. I know that you're old enough to be aware of the circumstances of your birth and deal with it. You asked me once about your father... it is a hard question to answer, as I don't know who he is. I wish it wasn't so, but I learned long ago that wishing doesn't make things any different. But know, that I made my decisions based on your best interest. You might not agree with me and that's fine. Your care was entrusted to Fulcinia Honorius, a woman who had been kind to me during my enslavement, as I knew that, with me, you would never be safe. I was too focused on avenging past hurts that I couldn't care for you properly. And my vengeance had earned me several enemies... Enemies who wouldn't hesitate to kill a young boy if they knew it would hurt me. _

_You've always been in my thoughts, though for years I never even knew what you looked like. But when I saw you in Rome... you looked so much like your Uncle Kavan, and your grandfather, Tiran. You have our family's hair and eyes, my brother's nose and my father's chin. I thanked the goddess every day after that meeting that you looked nothing like your father–whoever he was–and every bit a Sarmatian._

_I know that I'm not the mother you need or deserve. I've never known how to be one... my mother died before anything could be explained to me. But I kept you in my heart._

_I'm sick, Dominic. As you know by now, I never intended to leave with the others. If you are anything like me, or Kavan for that matter, you'll understand stubbornness. I refuse to waste away. And, I guess it's the reason why I kept you at a distance... why I kept everyone at a distance. I felt it would be easier for you to except that I was gone if you never really knew me._

_I'm certain that, through my actions, you'll be able to live a wonderful life, safe from those who would wish to harm simply because you were mine. That's all I've ever wanted. _

_I love you,_

_Aylin_

oOoOoOoOo

Tristan worked the brush over the shiny black hair meticulously. Ever since Artay had been found on the battlefield flustered without his rider and with an arrow-pierced hindquarter, Tristan had taken care of the beast. It was where he'd spent a lot of his time in the last month. The stallion had seemed to know that Aylin was dead and had become unresponsive and fidgety around people, refusing to allow anyone close enough to deal with the wound.

It had taken a few days of constant vigilance and murmurs, but Tristan had finally calmed the warhorse enough to remove the arrow and begin treatment against infection.

It was his way of staying close to her, he knew. She'd gone so suddenly he was still reeling from it. And her last words hadn't left his thoughts, or his dreams. _We almost had it, didn't we?_

Yeah, and he'd give anything to have another chance at it, too.

He hadn't spoken more than a few terse words to anyone since it happened. The men knew that they could find him either here in the stables, on the training field, in the tavern, or on Badon Hill, but that he wouldn't talk about the battle. That, he kept inside. Even when Dagonet tried to talk to him about it, Tristan kept silent. So his friends were resigned to waiting until he dealt with it in his own time.

He continued the brushing, whispering soft words to Artay, who flicked his ears back. The sound of soft footfalls and sniffling reached his ears. He turned to watch Dominic slowly round the corner of the stall, then come to a stop when he noticed Tristan there. Dominic didn't say anything, but he sat on the stool just inside the stall door and looked up at the horse.

Tristan said nothing either. The two waited in silence, waiting for the other to speak.

"What's the matter with you?" Tristan asked gruffly, unsure of a child's tears and what he should do with them.

"She left me a letter," the boy replied softly, but the scout heard him.

"She told me why she'd left when I was young, why she'd stayed. Bu–but, I still miss her," Dominic's voice shuddered.

Tristan couldn't help but agree with the kid's last statement. But when Dominic's eyes overflowed with thick tears, Tristan was on unsteady ground.

Steeling himself, Tristan moved quietly over to the boy and hesitantly touched a hand to his shoulder. His breath hitched in his throat when Dominic rose tear-filled eyes to his, reminding him so much of Aylin.

Why did they have to have the same damn eyes, he asked himself.

"Artay needs exercising. Do you want to do it?" He asked bluntly, unaware that he was using the same tactic with the boy that Aylin had.

Dominic stared at him for a moment and Tristan had to resist the urge to fidget. He didn't have much experience with kids, but he felt like he could at least relate to this one.

After a minute, Dominic nodded his head and did what Tristan instructed as they led the horse from his stall.

oOoOoOoOo

When Tristan entered his room later, his mood was shaky. He stood looking at his bed, thinking of when he'd held Aylin there, loved her there. Clenching his teeth, he kicked out at the mattress, sending it flying to the floor, upended the table and throwing the chair. He didn't even flinch when his weapons clanged to the floor, something that should have bothered him. And he kept on throwing things until all his pent up emotion had been released.

Sinking down to the floor, he wondered how in the hell he'd fallen in love with someone so quickly, when he barely knew her. Setting his hand down to steady himself, Tristan felt something under his hand. Looking down, he saw a folded parchment sealed with wax.

His heart skipped a few beats as he opened it, realizing that she must have put it on the table that morning, but he hadn't noticed. And as he read the letter, taking in the curving script, Tristan knew how it was that he'd fallen.

It was because she'd had fallen with him. It seemed they were more alike than he originally believed.

oOoOoOoOo

Late 470 A.D.

_Camp of the Eastern Legions, Asia Minor..._

"I don't care, Rufio. I want those maps now!" Cornelius sighed. He leaned back in his chair, looking over the papers on his desk, then around the tent that had become his makeshift headquarters for the past couple months. Shortly after Aylin left with the Bishop's caravan, Cornelius had been called east to quell a mangy rebellion. Personally, he felt that the whole thing was overdone, as it did not take his legions to stop a group of mutinous peasant soldiers in an outer province. But what the Emperor wanted, the Emperor received.

It had taken more time to move the army to the province than to put out the rebellion, and Cornelius was looking forward to his upcoming leave, when he could return home to Greece for a short while.

Rufio, his secretary, returned with the requested maps, but he wasn't alone. Pausing at the tent threshold, Rufio nodded respectfully and announced, "Bennett, Captain of the Third, with a message for you, Sir."

Cornelius stayed in his reclined position for a moment, as his brown eyes swept across the soldier in close scrutiny.

"What is a captain from the Third doing all the way out here, hmm?" Cornelius asked, propping his chin in his hand and looking at Bennett with little interest. His curiosity was digging at him, but he always used this routine on visiting officers, to make sure they knew who had the power.

Bennett saluted the general, and stepped forward. "I carry a letter for you, Sir."

His attention captured, Cornelius leaned up. "And what is a captain doing delivering a message?"

"It was asked of me as a personal favor, Sir. By Marsile." Bennett stated, his eyes forward.

"Marsile?" Cornelius whispered. That was unexpected. "You were the commanding officer for the Bishop's caravan, were you not?" He went on when Bennett nodded the affirmative. "Then Marsile should have returned with you."

Bennett hesitated, glancing over at Rufio. "If we might speak privately, Sir, I could explain the matter better."

Cornelius dismissed his secretary with a wave, his eyes demanding an answer when the two were alone. "Have a seat officer." He said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.

"Sir," Bennett began from his seat, "The Bishop and most of his entourage were slaughtered by Woads, a tribe of native Britons, on our return journey several months ago. Marsile's letter, I am told, will explain the events that befell her in Briton. But she asked me to spread word of her death. That is all I know, Sir, as she said no more on the subject."

Cornelius reached out for the letter and gazed at the writing on it. Looking up once more at Bennett, he said, "Thank you for your diligence in the matter, Captain. Tell my secretary to find you a meal and a tent, you will rest as long as you need."

Bennett stood and saluted once more before leaving the tent.

With shaky hands, Cornelius opened the parchment and began read his friend's scrawl.

_My dear friend and comrade Cornelius,_

_If you haven't heard already, news of my death is spreading throughout the empire and most importantly, Rome. Obviously, as you are reading my hand, I am not dead... yet. _

_I should have listened to my instincts more closely, my friend, for then I would..._

The more he read, the more furious Cornelius became. At mention of her son, Cornelius paused, amazed that she would find the boy amid such circumstances. His fists clenched slightly as he read of the scout, Tristan, but relaxed again when he could practically feel the emotion in her words.

She deserves happiness. Even if it's not with me, he mused.

But reading of her illness and her confession of _Morpheus_ use (he was only a little surprised she believed he hadn't known) and her plan to stay and die in battle, rather than waste away in a sickbed, caused him such pain, as her earlier words came back to mind.

_I am not dead... yet._

And in his heart, he knew she was. Once she set out to do something, Aylin stayed at it until it was completed.

_Nothing I could ever do would repay you or your father for all you've done for me the last eleven years. Your friendship and love is what kept me going in times when all I wanted to do was quit. I thank you for that. I will always remember you._

_Iniga_

Gently setting the letter on the desk, Cornelius placed his head in his hands as grief overcame him. His closest friend was gone. He knew it. It was then he decided that a visit to Hadrian's Wall was in order. Calling Rufio, Cornelius began writing instructions on parchment, telling his secretary to bring in his second-in-command, for he was taking leave earlier than expected. But he needed to make a stop in Greece before continuing on.

oOoOoOoOo

471 A.D.

_Hadrian's Wall..._

The fields were the greenest Cornelius had ever seen when he approached Hadrian's Wall, a few months after receiving Aylin's letter.

He still couldn't quite believe that she was gone, but knew that he needed to see her grave to finally gain closure. He traveled quickly, and alone. He'd needed to be alone, to grieve. He and his horse were dusty. It had been several days since his last shave, so his cheeks and chin were shadowed with stubble, giving him a haggard look.

He rode up the hill and found himself looking out on a slope of graves. Air chocking in his lungs, Cornelius wound around them, looking for her sword. When he finally found it, Cornelius slid off the horse and knelt by the grassy mound. Closing his eyes, he prayed. He had known what he would find, but the reality of it knocked the breath from him. He stayed there for a while, before saying goodbye to a lost friend and remounting.

Walking his horse through the fort gates, he gazed about his environment. The marketplace was full with chattering merchants and consumers. Children raced along the streets laughing, while the older men and women clucked at them in stern amusement. Cornelius continued on to the open gates of the inner compound, noticing that, while there were guards, people moved freely in and out. He had heard of the new King Arthur and his kindness, the openness a sign of philosophy on equality.

Dismounting, Cornelius grabbed his pack from the saddle and handed the reins to a man waiting on him.

"Visiting, Sir?" Jols asked the dirty and road weary man.

"Yes, I am actually hoping to speak with the King."

"Ah, Arthur and his knights are over there, playing," Jols replied with a smile, pointing to the training yard.

Nodding, Cornelius looked over and saw a group of men sparring and jokingly insulting one another. As he neared the fence, he tried to fit the men to Aylin's description of them in her letter. Glancing over, he noticed a man with dark, braided hair instructing a young boy at the bow.

" 'O, Arthur, looks like we have a visitor," Bors said loudly, jerking a chin in Cornelius' direction.

Arthur backed away from an armed Lancelot and looked over at the fence.

"Can I help you?" He asked of Cornelius, who stepped forward to introduce himself.

"I am Cornelius, son of Gattus," he said.

Arthur looked shocked for a moment before saying, "General of the Eastern Legions."

"Yes."

"A Roman?" Galahadsaid lowly.

"Galahad!" Arthur said sharply, then focused back on Cornelius. "You were friend to Aylin, correct?"

He nodded, and said, "I received a letter from her a few months ago. From her writing, I knew what had happened. I stopped at her grave before coming here." Cornelius lowered his gaze.

Arthur looked back at his men and saw the brief shadowed looks of grief in their eyes.

Tristan and Dominic came closer and drew Cornelius' attention. His eyes swept over Dominic from head to toe.

He looks like her so, he thought.

"You must be Dominic. You look just like your mother," Cornelius said quietly.

Dominic looked up at Tristan, then back at Cornelius. "You knew my mother?"

"Yeah, I knew her. My father took her in when she was about your age, raised her like a daughter. We were good friends."

Cornelius looked down at the pack he was holding and said, "When I read that she'd found you here, I thought you might want this." He pulled out a scroll-like object. "Even though she hated it with a passion, I knew you would appreciate in a way that she couldn't."

Dominic peered curiously at it, and Cornelius unrolled it with a smile.

Dominic stared in awe as the painting came into view. There, just in front of him, was his mother, beautiful in her blue dress and loose hair. He stepped closer to it and ran his fingers across her painted face. The men watched in silence. Though battle-hardened warriors, they recognized the precious moment for what it was.

"My father had it commissioned. It was amusing watching Iniga fight him every step of the way," Cornelius said.

"Iniga?" Dominic asked, confused at the name.

"What my father named her. 'Fiery', to match her spirit." He replied, and handed the portrait to the boy. "I thought it would be more at home here, than in Greece."

"Thank you, sir," Dominic whispered.

Arthur cleared his throat before saying, "I think we should let you clean up, rest and eat, General."

"Call me Cornelius," he stated.

Arthur nodded and said, "Follow me?"

The men left the yard, Gawain telling Dominic that they would hang the painting in a place of honor.

Cornelius hung back a bit, and walked near Tristan.

"You are Tristan?" He queried.

The scout stopped and looked at the General, before nodding.

Cornelius stared at him a while, then gave him a respectful nod accompanied with his thanks. Tristan stayed where he was and watched the Roman follow the others into the building. Despite the man's position in Roman society, Tristan found himself approving of Cornelius. As he was the only person that Dominic had mentioned his fear–fear of forgetting what Aylin looked like–Tristan respected him for his gift, though he was unaware of its true value to the boy.

With a thoughtful glance up at the Hill–at Aylin–Tristan turned back and walked into the building, closing the door behind him.

Everything would turn out all right. In time, everything would be fine.

_Fin_

**That's all folks! I just want to thank you guys soooo much for all the reviews–they kept me writing at times when I really considered stopping. It might have taken awhile, but Almost Had It All is finally finished.**

**Please, send in a review and let me know what you thought. I'd appreciate it!**


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